


Predator and Prey

by the_overlord



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Careers aren't always Careers, Crossover, Derek is from District One, M/M, Slow grow, Stiles has an authority complex, Stiles is from District 4, There will be feels, Violence, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_overlord/pseuds/the_overlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You saved my life. Those aren’t the rules of this game."</p><p>Stiles' face darkened, his eyes intense, voice low.</p><p>"I don’t like the rules of this game."'</p><p> </p><p>Getting chosen for the Games was unavoidable, dying was probable, but Stiles wasn't going to let anyone tell him how to play the game. Whoever thought putting him in the arena was a smart idea was about to learn just how wrong they were.</p><p>The hunt is on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tributes of District 4

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first chapter of many, and I'm going to dedicate the story to Hannah (Madame_Beret) because she helped with it's creation, especially the title, and she's dedicated her new Klaine fic to me. Hi Hannah.
> 
> Just a heads up as well, this is based on the Hunger Games but I have changed a few things because I wanted to distance it slightly from the plot of the actual books otherwise I feared it might seem like a complete rehash of Suzanne Collins, so if some things don't follow the exact parameters of the books then it's probably intentional. Also for the purposes of this story District 4 is not a Career District, but that will be explained in chapter 2.
> 
> Enjoy.

Row upon row of children stood before the raised platform all dressed in grey - a sea drained of colour, ready for the coming storm. Hushed whispers caught on the wind, but no one raised their voice for fear of standing out. Today was no day to be noticed. It might have been more appropriate had it been raining, or had the sky darkened with the arrival of the dreaded day, but the sun had risen that morning, brighter than ever and had proceeded to lavish the district with warm rays of light all through the morning. Standing, waiting for something to happen, the warmth was almost too much.

One spot of colour appeared amongst the sea of grey, exiting the town hall with a flourish. The woman was dressed head to toe in peacock feathers, the little black dots like thousands of eyes scanning the crowd, never blinking, just watching the masses of hushed children below. The outfit seemed to have been covered in a fine mist of glitter sparkling with each step the woman took, and as she strutted towards the microphone at centre stage, the children in the front rows had to turn their heads to stop from being blinded by the reflection.

There was a harsh ‘clacking’ sound as the woman’s elongated nails brushed against the ball of the microphone, but she paid no attention to the abrasive sound and pulled it from the stand with a flick of her wrist, smiling out into the crowd as she did so. She paused to take a deep breath, savouring the moment, before she spoke.

‘It is my absolute _pleasure_ to welcome so many of you here today, for this, one of our most exciting traditions.’ She paused for effect, scanning the rows of children. She was met with nothing but blank faces. She cleared her throat before continuing.

‘My word, the excitement here is almost tangible. I myself am practically _bursting_ with anticipation, but don’t you worry, I won’t leave you hanging for long. I’m not that cruel.’

She laughed, whether it was out of irony or because she thought that pitiful excuse for a joke was worthy of a laugh was unclear. Either way, she laughed alone.

‘So, I flipped a coin earlier and the girls won, so they will be the ones to kick off the show this year.’

She turned to beckon one of the crystal balls forward from the back of the stage, her heels tapping impatiently against the stained wood beneath her feet. When it was settled before her she placed the microphone back in its stand and rubbed her hands together happily. The crowd stiffened as she lingered over the opening of the bowl. She had their attention, now she was teasing them.

‘Good luck girls.’

Her hand plunged into the little mountain of paper lining the bowl and she spent a couple of seconds rooting around before she picked one she liked. Pulling it out she showed it off to the crowd like some sort of prize, wiggling it in the air temptingly as everyone watched with their hearts in their mouths, wondering if their name was on the paper, wondering if it was someone they knew. The square was so quiet that even the little ‘snick’ of the paper being pulled open was audible in the back row.

‘The female tribute from District 4 is… Allison Argent.’

All eyes turned to the unfortunate girl as whispers broke out.

‘Come on up here Allison, come show the world what they're in for.’

On shaking legs Allison managed to push her way out of her line, and start the walk up towards the stage. Despite her obvious trembling she held her head high, keeping her expression neutral, almost as if she hadn’t just been sentenced to near inevitable death. The other girls moved aside to let her through. They bowed their heads as she passed. When she reached the stage, the woman in the feathers tugged her up the steps and placed her so that she was looking out into the crowd she had just left. The crowd she'd never be part of again.

‘The boys now, let’s see who will be joining lovely Allison here, shall we?’

In the fourth row of the crowd, one of the boys was trying to push his way out of line and towards the stage. He was being held back by the boy next to him, struggling valiantly against the grip on his shoulders and around his waist. His eyes were fixed on Allison, his mouth open as if trying to call for her but unable to remember how.

‘Scott, Scott, stop it, stop struggling. There’s nothing you can do for her right now. You’ll just attract attention.’

Scott stilled, turning towards the boy holding him back, eyes wide and shining, pleading with him to understand.

‘Please Stiles, I need to help her, I need to stop this. I can’t let them take her to that _place_.’

Stiles sighed, relinquishing his choke hold, and using his now free hands to skim the spiky tufts of his buzzed hair. He glanced quickly up at Allison who was gazing resolutely off into the distance, and then back to Scott.

‘I know buddy. We’ll think of something, but we can’t do anything right now so you need to calm down.’

The crowd around them began to murmur. Turning his focus back to the situation at hand, he looked up towards the stage wondering what he'd missed. The peacock lady was staring confusedly out into the crowd, brows furrowed into a tight V. She raised the scrap of paper in her hand and considered it, regarding the name with scorn, before shouting it out, massacring the syllables as she tried. Stiles’ blood ran cold. Beside him Scott stiffened, reaching out to grab Stiles’ arm tightly. Normally Stiles would have complained about the harsh grip, about bruises and delicate skin, but he was acutely aware that 'normally' had just gone out the window along with the rest of his life and his whole body felt nothing but numb. The horrible name was called again too loud and too wrong and Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed that he'd had to put _that_ down on the card. No one had called him that in years. Not since his m- not in a long time.

Next to him, Scott began to take a step forward, mouth open as if he was going to say something but Stiles knew exactly what it was that he wanted to say, and there was no way in hell that that he was going to let _that_ happen. He kicked Scott as hard as he could, shaking his head when Scott turned to look at him incredulously. Scott frowned but stepped back into line, eyes fixing back on the stage where Allison was now staring directly at him. Or rather, directly at Stiles.

Without conscious effort he began to walk towards the stage, legs moving of their own accord. For this small mercy he was almost glad as his mind was spinning too fast to be of any actual use. It was lucky that the town centre was stone paved and flat, had it not been he almost certainly would have tripped and brained himself before he even made it to the arena. A traitorous part of him whispered that perhaps that would be a more fitting end for someone like him. That there was no glory in his future so maybe it would be best opt out now, under his own conditions. They wanted spectacle, surely that would suffice. Surely it would be original. He ignored the voice and kept walking.

The stairs were trickier for his numb legs and spinning mind to navigate, but just like with Allison the sharp grip of the peacock lady’s spiked hand guided him up before he could even _think_ about embarrassing her. The cameras flitted back round to focus on the three of them and she smiled into the lens giddily.

‘So there we have it folks, your two District 4 tributes, Miss Allison Argent and Mr –’

‘Stiles.’

He hadn’t really meant to say anything, but the shock must have short wired everything in his brain, because the word tumbled out without his permission.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Call me Stiles, everyone else does.’

The woman looked a little affronted by the unscheduled interruption, but she nodded anyway, still smiling brightly, and carried on.

‘Miss Allison Argent and Mr ‘ _Stiles_ ’ Stilinski. Let’s give them a big round of applause.’

She tapped her hands together lightly, and the rest of the crowd reluctantly joined in. Unmoving, Stiles and Allison stood side by side, arms almost touching, staring out into the sea of familiar faces. They didn't speak. There wasn’t really all that much to say.

Out in the crowd, Scott watched as two of the most important people in his life were led off of the stage and through the giant double doors of the Town hall. As the doors slammed shut behind them he covered his eyes with his hands and let the tears come.


	2. The Ocean Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he leaves, Stiles has to say goodbye. He's pretty sure nothing has ever been so hard.

The room Stiles was led to was by far the most luxurious room in all of District 4, and it was most certainly the fanciest room Stiles had ever seen. Poor by no account, but not particularly well off either, most of the District was passable but not attractive, built for practicality, not beauty. But this room, this room was built for nothing more than its occupant’s wonderment. Stiles tried to imagine all the visiting dignitaries from the Capitol that must have used the room at one time or another, sipping tea from china tea cups and nibbling on perfectly cut triangles of finger sandwiches, basking in the opulence of the chandelier and silk draperies. Stiles wanted to wrap himself in the silk draperies and never come out. He didn’t.

Instead he slumped down onto one of the cushioned chairs, blue like the rest of the room which seemed to adhere to a strict blue/green colour scheme, and propped his feet up on the ornate wooden table in front of him. He supposed it wasn’t the best etiquette, feet on the furniture, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care. It wasn’t as if he would be punished, after all, what punishment can you give to a boy already on death row? His feet stayed on the table.

It wasn’t until he stretched that he realised there was a note under the heel of his boot, it scraped against the wood as he rolled out the cricks in his neck and arched his back. Pulling it out from under his foot, Stiles glanced at it, skimming over the bulk of the writing with disinterest, not bothering to take in what was undoubtedly a simpering propaganda piece on why he was so lucky to be picked to represent his District. He felt many things but lucky wasn’t one of them.

At the bottom of the letter, beside the obnoxiously large red seal of the Capitol, was a single line of text, bigger and bolder than anything else on the page. It read,

**MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOUR**

Stiles snorted at the placid line for several moments before balling up the piece of paper and lobbing it carelessly towards an urn in the corner of the room. He sighed as it bounced off of the rim and skittered across the floor to lie at the corner of a deep green rug, pathetic and crumpled, just like Stiles felt. His head flopped back against the headrest of the chair and he sighed deeply again.

He jolted when the door opened across from him, and he barely had time to process what was happening before he was up and across the room, clutched tight in his father’s arms. Clearly shocked at the speed of his son’s movements, it took his dad a few moments to return the hug, but when he did he swept Stiles up and hung on like he was his life line. For a brief second Stiles considered the irony of that, but couldn’t bring himself to mention it, not when he could feel the tears leaking down his father’s face and onto his head. He squeezed tighter.

‘I can’t believe this is happening. I just can’t believe it.’

His voice was muffled by Stiles’ hair, but it still sounded completely wrecked as it was choked out. Stiles could only nod into his dad’s shoulder in response, scared that if he tried to talk he’d start crying himself. He knew that the moment he let that happen, he would never be able to stop.

‘I wish there was something I could do. Some way I could stop this. With all my influence you’d think I could do something, but no, I’m utterly helpless, forced to send my son into some arena to fight for his life. God, why’d she have to say _your_ name?’

Stiles sniffled.

‘Why’d she have to say _that_ name?’

They both chuckled slightly, the wet sound sticking to their throats.

‘Your mother would have probably stormed up to the stage and corrected the pronunciation, she never did quite understand why no one could pronounce it properly.’

There was a comfortable pause before his dad added,

‘I’m so glad she doesn’t have to see this.’

‘Me too. I’m just sorry I’m leaving you here alone.’

Stiles huffed as his dad tried to ruffle his hair, dodging away from the offending hand.

‘You know what kid, I think you sometimes forget that I’m the adult and you're the child in this relationship. You concentrate on winning this thing, I’ll be perfectly fine here, I promise.’

‘You promise to eat well?’

‘Yes, and with no complaints.’

Stiles snorted, ignoring the mock hurt his dad threw his way. Behind them a Peacekeeper slipped into the room, clearing his throat to get their attention. He gestured to them, indicating that their time was up. Drawing in a shaky breath, Stiles pulled his dad into one last hug, lingering for as long as he could before he pulled away.

‘Keep this place safe dad, they need their Head Peacekeeper. And make sure Mayor Argent doesn’t get too crazy over Allison being picked. Oh yeah, and look after Scott for me, he’s going to be useless without me around. Like totally, don’t let him accidently kill himself, he’s a walking disaster, like once –’

The Peacekeeper cleared his throat again.

‘I’ll look out for everyone here, just look out for yourself there. I love you, and I’m proud of you no matter what happens, always know that.’

He kissed the top of Stiles’ head one last time before he was ushered out of the room. Watching his father go, all Stiles wanted to do was fling himself into his arms and beg to stay, but he knew it would make no difference, so he didn’t even try. After all, he was part of the Games now, he had to play by _their_ rules.

He scoffed out loud and flopped back down onto the chair, wondering if anyone else would come to visit him. He was midway through a fantasy involving Lydia Martin, light of Stiles’ life, bursting into the room and throwing herself, sobbing, into his arms, when the door actually _did_ fly open, but instead of Lydia, a bedraggled looking Scott trudged in looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Stiles peered at him, hanging upside down off of the chair, and, with all the fake cheeriness he could muster, he grinned, saluting the upside down version of Scott he was facing.

‘Dude, what’s up with you? Have you forgotten that _I’m_ the one who’s being subjected to near inevitable death, not you.’

Scott glowered, coming off a bit like a puppy who’s tail had been stepped on. He didn’t appreciate it when Stiles bounced to his feet and ruffled his hair accordingly.

‘You should have let me volunteer Stiles.’

Stiles sighed, rubbing his hands across his face.

‘No, I really shouldn’t have. If I’d let you volunteer, both you and Allison would have been sent to the games and – ’

‘Yeah, and then I could have protected her, and you could have stayed here, and everything would have been _perfect_.’

‘Except for the part where only _one_ of you gets to come back alive. At the most. There can only be one winner Scott, this way you don’t have to make that decision.’

Scott fell silent, fingers twisting around a loose thread on his shorts.

‘You’re right, there can only be one winner…’

The unspoken question hung in the air, heavy and invasive, almost suffocating.

Because, if there could only be one winner, which of them would have to die?

Of course that assumed that they didn’t both get killed, and seeing as District 4 was no longer a Career district, that seemed like the most likely outcome anyway. But, that was hardly upbeat, positive news Stiles didn’t say anything. Neither of them did.

Scott hugged him tight, his usually bright and happy face completely distraught, and then, as if going through the motions, the said goodbye and Stiles thought he heard him whisper a quiet ‘thank you’, but before he could ask, the Peacekeeper edged back into the room and ordered Scott to leave. Outside, the blare of the train engine sounded, and lit Stiles’ bones on fire. He suddenly felt very heavy, and very unprepared.

Before he could even process the panic settling into his bones, the call came for their departure and he was bustled out onto the gleaming silver bullet train that was stationed outside the Town Hall. He managed one last wave to his dad and Scott before he was pushed into the carriage and the door was slammed shut behind them. Beside him he heard Allison begin to cry, and without thinking he drew her into a hug, barely noticing when the train lurched into life beneath his feet. When eventually they pulled apart they didn’t speak, choosing instead to go their separate ways in silence, filled to capacity with the events of the day.

No one tried to stop Stiles as he moved further down the train, and he finally found the room designated to him without any help. Letting himself in he flopped onto the bed gracelessly and cocooned himself in the satin soft sheets, feeling the smooth fabric wash against his skin like water. Water was what he knew. Water was where he was safe. Burying his head under the fluid fabric he breathed as deeply and steadily as he could, beckoning the darkness forward, desperate for the day to end but knowing the next day would only bring new horrors. That was his life now, a life of horrors and nightmares. A life counted in days not years. A life changed in but one moment, the misfortune of the draw. It all seemed so unfair, and as he muffled his screams and shouts into the mattress, he couldn’t help but wish he could be anywhere but there.

Just before he succumbed to his aching limbs and the call of sleep, he let himself wonder whether his mother was watching him from wherever she was. With an accepting sort of morbidity, he figured he could ask her when he saw her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really couldn't get this chapter right, so I'm posting it as is, but yeah, not happy with it at all. It just didn't flow right, maybe because I was trying to make Stiles' attempted cheeriness too prominent. Just eugh. Hopefully the next chapters will be better.


	3. The Victor of District 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles makes a decision, one that could change what's left of his life considerably.

When he woke from his restless dreams, the train was dark and quiet. Unwilling to relinquish himself once more to the nightmares that were lurking just behind the façade of sleep, Stiles shucked off the warm blankets and climbed from his bed. As soon as his feet touched the carpet the lights flickered on and he had to shield his eyes from the sudden glare of light. But as his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the light he felt his way to the door of his room and wandered out into the hallway, his curiosity pushing him further and further down the barely rocking carriages of the train.

The dining carriage was empty, but he grabbed a fresh apple from the bowl on the counter as he passed, biting into it and moaning in satisfaction as the sweetness attacked his taste buds. Coming from the fishing district meant that he didn’t have a lot of access to fresh fruit, even as the son of one of the wealthier, important citizens, and he had forgotten how good apples tasted when they weren’t bruised and old, how sharp and sweet and _juicy_. Doubling back briefly, he snagged two more apples and a pear and shoved them into his pockets for later.

There were locked doors all down the next carriage, with big, red ‘KEEP OUT’ signs plastered all over them, and while usually Stiles would have seen that as a challenge, he kept on walking for once, still chomping happily on his apple. The sudden sound of voices surprised him, he’d expected everyone to be asleep in their rooms, not hanging out on the other side of the train for no apparent reason, although, he supposed he wasn’t really one to talk. Straining his ears, Stiles tried to block out the rhythmic thumping of the train and focused instead on the voices. From the sound of it there were a few people, talking in hushed, static-y tones, too low for Stiles to distinguish into words, but loud enough for him to follow to its source, so he edged along the carriage towards it.

Light flickered from beneath a closed compartment, and Stiles pressed his ear up to the wood of the door, hoping to figure out who was inside, before he went in. He desperately hoped it wasn’t the obnoxious peacock lady from before. Spending prolonged time with her seemed like it would be more of a punishment than being sent to the Games. Of course the Games were supposed to be an _honour_ , but still…

Thankfully he couldn’t hear her high pitched warble, so he figured he was safe to knock. Taking a breath, and totally unsure why he was suddenly nervous, he rapped three times fast on the door and stood back to wait for a response. The voices inside quietened very suddenly, followed by the sound of footsteps coming closer. Stiles held his breath for no apparent reason. The door swung open to reveal a dark skinned man, one eyebrow raised in question, but a small, friendly smile on his face nonetheless. Stiles instantly recognised him and smiled back.

Deaton was District 4’s resident Victor, having won the Games years before when he was only 16. He’d been a complete underdog, left alone by the other tributes because he was seen as easy pickings once the other, more threatening Tributes were sorted out. But he’d had skills, _deadly_ skills, and as the son of the apothecary and doctor of District 4, he’d managed to take down the final four tributes without spilling any blood whatsoever. Stiles hadn’t been alive when that happened, but he’d certainly heard enough stories about it to feel slightly awed in the man’s presence.

‘Ahh, Stiles. Couldn’t sleep?’

Stiles shook his head, and Deaton beckoned him into the room, still smiling.

‘Me neither, so I thought I’d come here and watch some old videos to brush up on what I’m going to teach you and Allison tomorrow when we discuss strategy. But since you’re here, why don’t you come watch with me, hmmm?’

Watching videos explained the voices he’d heard through the door, and glancing at the television in the corner confirmed that there was indeed a paused video on the screen. Stiles shuddered at the look of terror on the face of the girl the video had paused on. If he remembered correctly, she’d been a rather unfortunate Tribute of District 8 the year before last. It was times like these that Stiles hated having a good memory.

‘I don’t know if I want to watch these.’

Deaton stopped searching for the remote and turned to look at Stiles who was still staring at the frightened girl on the screen. He knew exactly what had happened to her. He swallowed down bile.

‘I know they’re unpleasant to watch, but there is a lot you can learn from watching those who went before you. Things that could save your life.’

It was a valid point, but Stiles couldn’t bring himself to sit.

‘I don’t want to watch them die again. It’s bad enough that we watched it the first time.’

Deaton sighed, but flicked off the screen altogether. With the girl’s face gone, Stiles finally managed to relax and look away from the television, meeting Deaton’s eyes for the first time. There was sadness in them, and disappointment, and Stiles felt his jaw clench in retaliation.

‘If you can’t watch people die on screen, how do you plan on killing them in real life, Stiles?’

He considered the point. Tasting the question in his mouth, weighing it on his tongue. Letting it bounce around inside his head, but still, he had no answer. So he stood in silence, clenching his fists by his sides, and staring past Deaton’s head at a little crack in the wall, and waited until an answer came.  Whenever he blinked he could see the face of the District 8 girl, so young and terrified, staring back at him, begging him for help, and he knew that in just a few days, that would be him. It would be his face on every screen, his blood spilled for sport, his hand dealing death to those who had done nothing more than pick the proverbial short straw. He felt sick.

When the answer finally came, Stiles was struck by how easy it was, how right it felt, how strangely elusive it had been. But he had it now, and it felt like something solid to hold onto, so he gripped it tight and secured it in his mind as best he could. Then he flicked his gaze back to Deaton who was still watching him patiently, perhaps a little concerned by the prolonged silence, and said,

‘I don’t. I don’t plan on killing anyone. In fact, more than that, I _refuse_ to do so. They can force me into the arena, they can make my life a living hell, they can even kill me, but they can’t make me raise a hand against my fellow tributes. These are people, no, _children_ , who have done nothing to me, I have no grudge against any of them, I don’t think I have it in me to kill them in cold blood. And if I did, I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself, that’s just not who I am, and it’s certainly not who I want to become.’

Then, with a bitter smile, he turned, dropped the remnants of his apple into the basket by the door, and wandered out of the room and back towards his carriage, feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I said in the beginning, I've changed a couple of things to separate this from the actual series. This one is minor, but I just wanted them to spend a little more time on the train than they seemed to in the books. So, I guess if you want a reason just assume one train goes to each district to pick up the tributes before returning to the Capitol, and as District 4 Stiles has to wait a lot longer than Katniss and Peeta did to get there. Other than that I hope you enjoyed it.


	4. The Capitol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't until Stiles reached the Capitol that he realised just how alone he really was.

Arriving in the Capitol was like arriving in a zoo. A loud, crowded, _sparkly_ zoo, all flashing lights and party poppers that split through the clamour of the crowd like gun shots. People on all sides fought for a better look, fought to see, hear, _stroke_ anything they could get their hands on. It was like nothing Allison and Stiles had ever experienced. Yeah, they had been somewhat high profile in District 4, compared to the regular fishermen’s sons and daughters, but this was a whole new level of popularity. This was overwhelming. Stiles was pretty sure that even _Lydia_ would have shied away under the attention they were getting, and she was normally begging to be centre stage any opportunity she got, so that was saying something. Things got really bad when an overenthusiastic woman grabbed onto Allison’s braid as she was passing and the security officers guarding the pair had to physically remove the woman from the crowd and carry her off. The second the officers disappeared into the crowd, two more pushed through to take their place guarding the ‘precious bounty’, chattering into ear pieces and hurrying the pair along. For God’s sake, they were only District _4_ Tributes, Stiles couldn’t even imagine the welcome the Career District Tributes got. He shivered as a hand stroked across the back of his neck before being pulled away by the nearest officer. Yeah, he really didn’t want to know what the Careers went through.

When they were finally through the crowds, Allison and Stiles were led into the foyer of one of the many beyond-fancy Capitol buildings that were as impressive as they were imposing. Everything was decked out in white and gold, the Capitol fashion trend of the week Stiles supposed, and he found himself squinting against the glare of the electric lights threaded along the ceiling. As he walked he stumbled slightly, narrowly missing an elaborate sculpture sitting off to the side, saved only by Allison’s firm grip on his arm that steadied him. Looking up, his smile faltered as he was struck by how cold and empty her eyes were, how lifeless they seemed, how different they were from the usually warm and friendly eyes he’d grown used to seeing in District 4. With a sinking stomach Stiles realised that Allison must have put more weight in Deaton’s words than he had. The Victor had told them on the train, or rather had told Allison while Stiles played with a rubber ball he’d found in his room, that the Games were no place for sentimentality, that it was kill or be killed and that was it. There was no point in clinging onto old sentiment and friendships if it cost you your life. Stiles had thought it was bullshit, and had said as much. Allison had apparently agreed with Deaton.

He only realised he had stopped moving when one of the officers nudged his shoulder with the butt of his baton, forcing him to carry on walking, but even then he lagged behind the rest, suddenly feeling a lot more lonely than he had only minutes before. He heaved a great sigh as he stepped into the lift, attempting to catch Allison’s eye once more, but when she refused to meet his gaze, he gave up and picked at his fingernails until the peacock lady – dressed in a different outfit, but still adorned in feathers – tutted in disgust and batted his hands away. He’d openly glared at her until they reached their floor.

As with everything in the Capitol, their quarters were opulent to the point of tacky. The theme of white and gold had followed them up from the foyer, but the designers had obviously decided to mix in a little bit of home with the overpowering force of the Capitol, and had thus splashed the room with explosions of blue and green at random points. Around the top of the room, where the ceiling met the wall, the blue and green paint had been used to make it look like there was water leaking from the floor above, or maybe like they were in a room underwater. At least that was what Stiles assumed they had been going for. To him it just looked a little like the room was melting. It was rather unsettling.

Desperate to retreat from the melting room, lest he be trapped when it melted completely, Stiles made a half-hearted excuse that involved a lot more gesticulating than actually words, and escaped into the room he figured was his. It was slightly bigger than the room he’d had on the train, but the lay out was pretty much the same so there wasn’t really any reason to snoop, so instead he settled down onto the bed and pulled the last remaining apple from his pocket, the other apple and pear having been devoured sometime during the night and the morning. It was a little bruised, and Stiles had to brush off clumps of lint that had gathered from the dust in his pocket, but it was still better than what he usually got, so he ate it all, leaving only the stalk, and then sat back to think, tossing the stalk into the furthest corner aimlessly.

It wasn’t long until he was being called for dinner.

Sitting around the table with a woman dressed as a bird, a killer apothecary and a girl who was apparently set on killing him for her own survival, made the whole ordeal one of the most unsettling meals Stiles had ever had to sit through. Sure, the food was great but the company was somewhat lacking, and terrifying. Still he chomped away, as deficient in table manners as always, and chatted to no one about all the random facts or anecdotes he could think of. As he did so, Deaton attempted to cut in with possibly useful tips.

So Stiles would say something like:

‘I once made a daisy chain that went round the entire circumference of our house. Our _house_. It was massive! And of course it took me days to complete, and by the time I did it was mostly brown and dead, but still, don’t you think that’s impressive?’

And Deaton would hold up a finger in a knowing way and respond:

‘Did you know there are various different plants that are poisonous, and should there be a forested area in the arena, as there is almost every year, it would be useful for you to learn which ones you can eat and which ones you should avoid. Remind me to cover that with you tomorrow, Ok?’

And then Stiles would butt in with another comment about a pet snail he’d owned, and Deaton would remark about the type of game there was likely to be for them to hunt and which ones would be easiest to track and kill, and the cycle would continue until everyone was just as frustrated with each other. Allison had actually seemed interested in the hunting aspect so that had actually escalated into a full grown conversation that not even Stiles could natter into nothingness, and so he’d resorted to building battlements with the mashed potatoes he’d heaped onto his plate, ignoring the look of disgust the bird woman had given him and pouring out a gravy moat.

By the end of the meal Allison and Deaton were discussing game plans, and Stiles was moaning as he rubbed his too full belly, pushing up off of his chair with a groan before beginning to waddle back towards his room just wanting to curl up and sleep his stomach ache away.

‘Stiles wait.’

Stiles paused and turned to face Deaton, eyebrow raised but too tired to actually answer.

‘As you might have realised, the Opening Ceremony has been pushed back to tomorrow evening because of a fault on one of the trains coming from District 11. You need to be up and ready to go down to meet your beauty team by 9 tomorrow is that understood? I don’t care what you’ve privately decided, this isn’t just about you and what you want to do, this is about our District. They’re all counting on you, make them proud. I’d hate for you to disappoint them, wouldn’t you? Especially with your father watching.’

Stiles made to answer, opened his mouth to respond viciously and sarcastically, but the words didn’t come. Instead, his hands began to shake, his breath began to quicken, and the pressure in his stomach mounted until he had just enough time to make it to the toilet and crouch over the bowl, before the entire meal was spilling back out of him. As the panic attack came out of nowhere and hit him full force, Stiles desperately tried to fight it back down, even though all attempts at keeping his food down was failing despite his valiant efforts. By the time he calmed down he was shaking and sweat soaked and his mouth tasted like the rotting dead flesh of some kind of rodent. Flashes of his own death kept sparking behind his eye lids, grotesque screams echoing in his head, images of his dad sobbing over his cold body, mutilated and scarred. The reality was somehow much more real now that his barriers had been lowered by the panic attack.

Pushing himself up from the no longer pristine bathroom floor, Stiles forced himself to stand on shaking legs and wander back out into the main part of the apartment.

It was empty.

Apart from a lone Avox clearing the table, everyone else had cleared out. No one had come to help him, no one had come to see if he was ok, because no one cared what the answer was. The chill in his bones dug deeper as he made his way to his bedroom, wondering all the while how he’d gotten to where he was, how his life had made such a horrible U-turn in such a short time.

That night he dreamt of death. He dreamt of his own face, plastered across the Districts, pale and dirty, eyes wide and terrified as the cool blade of a dagger cut into his skin. He was screaming and struggling but he couldn’t get away, and he could hear cold, unforgiving laughter behind him. Somehow, he managed to twist enough to glimpse the face of his killer, and when he stared into the merciless eyes of Allison Argent he screamed and screamed until he woke himself up.

Sitting curled in his blankets, shaken and selfish, he wished more than anything that he’d let Scott volunteer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up the Opening Ceremony and the first appearance of Derek Hale, Career of District One.


	5. The Opening Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we meet the infamous Derek Hale, not that Stiles knows that he just knows something's wrong. More wrong than being in a room full of teenagers all set on their mission to kill him. The life of a Tribute is never easy.

Erica was without a doubt one of the scariest people he had ever met. And to make it worse, she was a scary woman with a razor. When she smiled Stiles wasn’t sure which urge was stronger; the urge to kiss her, or the urge to run as far and fast as he could. It all left him in an uncomfortable state of indecision and unease.

When he’d come down in the morning to meet his beauty team he’d been half asleep and still in his night clothes. He hadn’t expected the blonde bombshell to grab him by the shoulders, drag him to the floor length mirror in the adjoining room, and start measuring every inch of him. To say it had been uncomfortable would have been an understatement. She’d even tried to strip him naked, but he had drawn the line there, and asked if there was anyone of a more masculine nature to do that particular task. She’d pouted, muttered something about being a professional, but ushered in two teens, not much older than Stiles, and ordered them to deal with ‘the prude’. She laughed at him when he pouted.

Isaac was sweet and quiet, completing his work with gentle hands and a bowed head, occasionally laughing at the running commentary Stiles had started up pretty much immediately in an effort to disguise his embarrassment. Jackson, on the other hand was arrogant and rough, poking and prodding at Stiles harder than necessary, and snickering every time Stiles squawked indignation. At some point during the whole ordeal Stiles casually switched from babbling about his childhood misdemeanours with Scott to just listing everything he disliked about Jackson. Even though they’d known each other less than a day, it was worryingly extensive especially once Isaac relaxed enough to add to the list himself. Stiles sensed there was a lot he’d been bottling up as once he started to tear into Jackson he barely stopped to breathe until Stiles was doubled over laughing and Jackson was sulking in the corner glaring at the pair of them and threatening Isaac with the nail scissors he was clutching.

But finally, when Stiles had been primped and groomed to the high standards of his beauty team, he’d been allowed, after long last, to slip back into his underwear. As soon as he was covered up, although barely, Erica had swept back into the room carrying a zipped up garment bag which she tossed onto the nearest chair in favour of twirling Stiles around and making pleased little noises. Stiles was pretty sure his entire body flushed.

‘Well don’t you look pretty all smooth and pale. I am going to have to get the boys to bronze you up a little if you are to pass for Neptune, King of the Sea, but that should be easy enough.’

‘I’m sorry, what?’

Stiles gawped when, instead of answering, Erica reached for the bag and unzipped it, giant, painted talons clacking against one another, and pulled out a long swathe of green material, a crown, and a trident. She plonked the crown onto his head and handed him the trident.

‘Perfect. We might have to paint your abs on a bit more though.’

She patted his stomach and he squeaked, twisting away from her and using his arms to cover up. She only laughed harder and pinched one of his nipples.

‘So shy. You are just adorable.’

‘Thanks?’

‘It’s a pity you’re almost definitely going to die soon.’

His eyes widened in shock at the bluntness of the statement, but Erica didn’t seemed fazed by his shock at all, more contemplative than anything. Stiles got the impression she wasn’t trying to be mean, she just said what she felt without shame or a second thought and although it was blunt, he could respect that. It was better than false hope he’d been getting everywhere else, and it wasn’t like she was _wrong_. Behind him Isaac leaned in to adjust his crown, and squeezed his shoulder almost apologetically. Stiles shot him a smile of gratitude and raised his arms so that Jackson could smear the bronzer across his chest, cackling gleefully when he accidentally brushed himself in the face and painted his cheek with the brown substance.

By the time he was beautified to Erica’s satisfaction, and clad in skin tight green trousers that shimmered in the light like scales, it was only half an hour until the opening ceremony and he found himself being hurried over to the chariots with all the other Tributes. It was the first time he’d seen most of them, and they all looked somewhat ridiculous dressed in their District’s costumes, but he didn’t have nearly enough time to marvel over the giant apples that the poor District 11 tributes had been dressed as, before Erica was bustling him over to where Allison was waiting with what Stiles assumed was her beauty team.

Like Stiles Allison was holding a trident, but it was slimmer and smaller than his. Her hair was wound back so that it cascaded down her back beatifically, and perched on top of her head was an opulent tiara encrusted with emeralds. Instead of green trousers, she was wearing a shiny green bikini made out of the same material of Stiles’ clothes, so that every time it caught the light she sparkled and glittered like fish scales. Every inch of her skin was flawless, and her eyes had been lined with blue and green shadows making her look powerful and dangerous in equal measure. Stiles suddenly felt very insignificant. It was obvious who had the power between them.

A bell chimed somewhere overhead and Erica and Allison’s head beautifier, who had introduced himself as Boyd with a small smile and a handshake, helped the pair into their chariot with last minute words of wisdom on how to smile and how to hold themselves. Allison refused to look at Stiles more than she needed to, and Stiles quickly gave up on trying to talk to her, instead spending his time looking at all the other tributes gathered in their golden chariots, trying to guess which ones were likely to make it past the first couple of days in the arena. A morbid game but entertaining nonetheless. The Careers were all incredibly intimidating with their quiet confidence and their rippling muscles, even the girls looked stronger than Stiles could ever hope to be. One of the Careers from District 1 was particularly bulky, and, dressed as a Roman gladiator, his arms were on full display. The girl next to him was similarly dressed in armour, though covered slightly more, and had her arm slung across the male tribute’s shoulders despite their enormous expanse. Stiles watched with rapt attention as they seemed to engage in some heated conversation, the man trying to shrug off the arm, and the woman grinning back at him maliciously. He seemed to recoil when the woman licked her lips at him and winked, and the curious part of Stiles longed to know what they were talking about despite the fact it was none of his business. He was just entertaining the idea of jumping off of his chariot and edging closer when they finally started moving.

When they broke into the main hall, Allison gasped quietly and clenched her fists by her sides. Stiles just gawked at the masses upon masses of people roaring at their entrance. Lights flashed, and people cheered, and a couple of roses made it into the base of their chariot, and through it all Stiles just fixed his most genuine smile onto his face, and thought about home. Nice, safe, _peaceful_ home. It was such a far cry from the clamouring chaos surrounding him.

The President’s speech was predictably hypocritical and threatening and scattered with faux pleasantries, and Stiles blanked most of it out, not bothering to pay attention. He glanced towards the District 1 tributes from before, wondering if continued watching of them would offer up any insight into their quarrel, and noticed that the woman was systematically brushing her arm against the exposed skin of the man, while he remained still as a statue, clenched to the point that Stiles though it must have been incredibly uncomfortable. When, completely by chance, Stiles and the male tribute made brief eye contact, a stab of uneasiness that rippled through Stiles’ chest, and he suddenly had the insane urge to march over to the woman and pull her arm away from the man who was obviously not enjoying her attention. The whole Hunger Games barbarity was bad enough, it seemed completely insane that the Tributes would actively make the whole ordeal _worse_ for each other. That was just plain rude. Thankfully he had enough common sense _not_ to do that, but he couldn’t shake the unease. Instead he watched with a clenched jaw, waiting patiently for the famous ‘May the odds be ever in your favour’ that marked the end of the world’s most predictably heinous speech, and breathing deeply as the chariots turned and wheeled them out of the deafening room.

When they pulled to a stop Stiles wasted no time before leaping from the chariot and flinging the crown and trident to Erica who was waiting off to the side with Boyd. Almost without thinking he found himself scouring the room for the District 1 chariot, but when he found it across the room it was empty, both Tributes missing. Allison bumped into him as she jumped down after him and he absentmindedly steadied her, still searching the crowds for a glimpse of his new curiosity. He snapped from his reverie when she yanked her arm from his loose grip almost violently and glared at him hard enough that he felt the need to physically back up a few steps to avoid a premature death. Which was… ironic.

‘I don’t need your help.’

Her voice was low and harsh, coming out like the hiss of a snake, dangerous and cold and he recoiled from her instinctively. Laughing bitterly he stepped back towards her, eyes fixed on hers, before throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

‘I am so, _deeply_ sorry for the intrusion. Next time I’ll let you fall, I _promise_.’

He felt his face twist into an unattractive sneer as her face flushed pink and her fists balled at her sides as if debating whether to punch him or not, whether it was worth the hassle. He wondered where the old Allison had gone because looking into her eyes all he could see was merciless, bitter, emptiness. Before she could come to any sort of decision as to whether breaking his nose was in her best interests, Deaton stepped in between them, his back to Stiles, facing Allison, and put a soothing hand on her arm.

‘Save it for tomorrow Allison, you’ll need your strength for the training. We want to show the others just what you are made of.’

As if as an afterthought he waved a hand at Stiles and added,

‘You too Stiles. Both of you.’

But Stiles was barely listening enough to be offended by the complete brush off, too focused on the piece of crucial information he had accidentally forgotten. The training. He had completely forgotten about the training. And the demonstration. And the ranking. And the interview. And the _motherfucking_ Games themselves. Well maybe he hadn’t forgotten about the Games as such, but with all the chaos of the Opening Ceremony he’d completely forgotten just how close it all was. Days, that was all he had left. _Days_. And not even good days, days spent with his dad, or Scott, or even lazing round his District. No. He had days spent being bullied and paraded in front of a bunch of powerful assholes who felt like it was their god given right to treat him like their play thing, to manipulate him for fun, make him jump through their hoops so that his death was that much more devastating and entertaining.

He could count the rest of his life in days.

Excusing himself from the emptying room, he made his way up to his quarters alone, mind reeling and hands shaking. He climbed into his bed, laying spread eagle across the mattress, but the space felt too open, too vulnerable, so he pulled the sheets off of the bed and slipped into the crevice between the bed frame and the floor. He curled himself into the foetal position, cocooned in the sheets, and watched the shadows that slipped under the crack of his door until at last he drifted off to sleep, clinging desperately to the lingering feeling of bravery and strength caught on his bones.

He had the feeling it wasn’t going to last all that much longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is even happening. It's all so slow and boring. At least Derek was in it this time even if he's not named.


	6. The Training Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has always had a problem with authority, it's time to show it off.

The Training Room was already full and buzzing by the time Stiles arrived, late and scruffy as per usual. The panic from the night before had left him tired and groggy, the few hours of sleep he’d actually managed to get ending up restless and uncomfortable as he hadn’t wanted to risk moving from the crawl space under his bed. At least it had been clean. Then again everything in the Capitol was clean. Freakishly so.

Allison had left before he had even risen, and Stiles supposed it said something for everyone’s faith in him that no one even came to wake him. Either he was an entirely lost cause, or Deaton had spread the word about his plan. Whichever one it was, it ended up with him navigating the deserted halls by himself, following the disconcerting sound of grunting and clashing metal, until he found the other Tributes.

It was a far cry from the comically dressed parade of children he’d seen at the Opening Ceremony. Dressed down and training Stiles had no doubt in his mind that every single Tribute in the room could, and would, kill him if they got the chance. Even the younger children looked like they were ready to rip his head off the moment the klaxon sounded. Their eyes followed his progress across the room like they were waiting for an excuse to pounce, and he had never felt less prepared for anything in his life as he did in that moment. It was all he could do to remind himself to move one leg after the other, and breathe in and out periodically, the blood thrumming in his temples. Not for the first time he wondered why the _hell_ anyone thought that putting him in an arena with bloodthirsty children would be entertaining in any way. What was entertaining about seeing a child die? About seeing a child kill? What kind of sick bastards were they?

A knife thudded into the wood of the target only mere feet from where Stiles was standing and he jumped. The handle of the knife jutted out from the centre of the bullseye proudly, and as he turned to see who had thrown it, the confidence of the shot was echoed in the expression of the thrower. It was the District 1 tribute, the girl. Her blonde hair was tied back, no longer framing her face like it had the night before, and it somehow made her look that much more savage than she had then, even dressed as a Roman warrior. Grinning in victory she looked feral, like a creature overcome by instinct. Just looking at her was enough to make Stiles’ blood run cold. She was a killer, not by necessity, but by choice. And that made her infinitely more dangerous than any of the other Tributes in the room. She wouldn’t just kill for survival, she would do it for the rush, the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the carnage. She’d do it for fun.

Her eyes met Stiles’ and she fired another knife into the next target without breaking their gaze. It hit dead centre and she winked at Stiles mockingly before strutting off to the assault course on the opposite side of the room to practice her agility. Stiles doubted she would need it, a psycho like that was going to be slippery as fuck already. The training was just showing off. Posturing for the sake of intimidation.

Unfortunately for Stiles it was working.

And not just on him. Around the room several of the other Tributes were staring at the target with pale faces and wide, terrified eyes. One of the boys at the spear throwing station had gripped his spear so tight that the wood had cracked beneath his fist, and the District 8 girl’s hands  
wouldn’t stop shaking enough for her to finish the bark on the tree she was painting herself into. The only people apparently unfazed were the other Careers. The boy and girl from District 2 were sword fighting viciously in the corner, their own antics drawing their own terrified crowd, and the male from District 1 had removed himself to the far side of the room and was silently doing pull ups, his ridiculously massive arms flexing, his face as tense and blank as Stiles had seen it at the ceremony. Hands refusing to stay still, Stiles grabbed one of the kits laid out for making traps, and wandered over to the corner the District 1 guy had retreated to. Somehow, even with the hulking mass of the Career bench pressing himself over and over again to the point any normal person would have passed out from exhaustion, it still felt like the safest place to be. It didn’t really make sense, but not much in Stiles’ life did anymore so he let it be without much thought. Things were easier that way.

The guy didn't even acknowledge his presence.

Stiles stopped short of actually invading the guy’s space, and slid down the wall, settling into forming and reforming the traps until they were all second nature. If it hadn’t been a matter of life or death he imagined he might be interested in learning more, the logic and concentration needed appealing to his hyperactive mind and hands. As it was, each time his fingers twisted the knots together and loaded the springs, the weight on his shoulders just pressed down harder.

By the end of the day Stiles was a pro at making every kind of trap the list instructed, as well as being partially proficient in naming and knowing which plants were poisonous and which were edible, but he had no idea how to handle a weapon. Every time he considered trying one out he imagined actually using one on a person, stabbing them with the head of a spear or slicing into them with the blade of a sword, and he couldn’t see the point. The Tributes were strangers, they’d never hurt him, they’d never hurt his family, they just wanted to survive and he couldn’t bring himself to want to kill them for that. He wasn’t sure if that made him compassionate or an idiot. In the end he went with compassionate to make himself feel better.

Allison on the other hand had gone from station to station trying out every weapon she could get her hands on, finally settling in at the archery range for the afternoon. By the end of the day her target was littered with holes, and her smug grin refused to leave her face. Even the Careers from District 2 had stopped by to admire her bow work, a feat not missed by the other Tributes, or Stiles who just scowled from his corner and knotted his trap a little more violently than necessary. As another arrow sliced through the centre of the target Stiles wondered what Scott would think of her now, all deadly and dangerous. To be honest the idiot would probably find it attractive, maybe even sexy. Stiles just thought it was absolutely terrifying. Then again, he always had been the smart one of their duo.

When the bell rang to signal the end of training, Stiles was one of the last to leave, finishing off one of the more complicated traps before trailing after everyone else. Beside him he could just about hear the District 1 Tribute counting to 100 as he had been all day, completing his last set of sit ups. Stiles had been watching him surreptitiously throughout the training, marvelling at the skill and stamina he possessed. It made sense, after all he was a Career and Careers were all at the peak of their game physically, but there was something about the guy that was intriguing beyond his ability. Something that kept him watching all day. Stiles supposed it was the fact that he had drawn himself off into the corner to exercise, not bothering to touch a weapon or course. It could have been the tactic that some Tributes liked to use, hiding what your good at until the Games, but that didn’t make sense for a Career, after all they were expected to be the best at everything so there was no point in hiding it. And that was another thing. The other Careers had spent the day showing off to the frightened masses and while broody had that intimidating thing going for him, he was hardly trying to put the fear of god into anyone. It didn’t make sense, and that was what had kept Stiles intrigued. He’d always liked mysteries, and the Career from District One was definitely that.

He was quiet at dinner for once, something he was sure everyone noticed but nobody commented on. They let him eat his chocolate covered strawberries in peace as Deaton and Allison nattered on about the likeliness of a bow and arrow being supplied and how to hunt with it. Stiles blocked it all out, in favour of ignoring that particular problem until it went the fuck away. It arguably wasn’t the _best_ attitude towards the Games but ignoring them seemed to be the only way he could get through the day without curling up into a ball and panicking, so he adamantly stuck with it and hoped for the best. He wasn’t really sure what the best was in this situation anymore. A quick and easy death instead of a slow and painful one? Early on instead of long and drawn out? All of the options ended with him dead, maybe the only thing he could hope for was that the girl from District 1 didn’t kill him. He really didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of taking his life. God, he hoped she didn’t win.

Just as he was scowling at an image of the blonde tribute parading up and down in front of the cameras, smiling and laughing as she wiped the blood of her fellow players on her dress, the Peacock lady, dressed in sequins rather than feathers that day, came bustling into the room, clicking her fingers to get their attention. She slapped a strawberry out of Stiles’ hand, ignoring the hurt noise he let out before he plucked another from the bowl in protest.

‘Up, up. You two are meant to be waiting outside the Demonstration Room right now. The girl from District 3 just went in which means you are almost up. So hurry yourselves down there, and good luck.’

She patted Allison awkwardly on the head and then scurried from the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

The Demonstration Room was at the bottom of the building, below the District 1 quarters, and by the time the pair of them made it down there the District 3 girl was just emerging and the boy was going in. Stiles slumped into a seat to wait, bored the moment he touched the bench, but Allison paced up and down in front of him like a caged animal. Part of him wanted to tell her to stop, tell her that her pacing was making him nervous and wasn’t going to help anything, but a bigger part of him knew that nothing he said would change anything and that he’d just be wasting his breath so he said nothing and let the silence play on. 10 minutes later the door slid open again and Allison was beckoned forth leaving Stiles alone in the grey waiting room, somehow more friendly and welcoming with Allison gone. He couldn’t quite believe how much she’d changed in mere days. He supposed that was what the Games did, they changed people. He wondered if he’d changed at all. He was probably quieter.

He busied himself reciting the types of edible plants he could remember, and waited for his turn, breaking from his internal ramblings only when the two District 5 Tributes stumbled into the room, nervous and sweaty, taking the seats across from him. He smiled, the girl smiled back, and the boy turned an odd shade of green before retching slightly. Stiles shook his head and went back to humming part of a song he remembered his mum singing to him when he was younger.

When he was eventually called, he waved towards the District 5 Tributes, strutted into the room with the faux confidence he had perfected after asking Lydia out nearly 100 times, his heart pumping in his chest almost painfully, and stood centre stage before announcing his name to the assembled panel. They watched him with mild curiosity, waiting to see what he would bring to the table, but for a second he did nothing. Then, without any preamble, he sank to the floor cross legged and refused to speak or move. It took 8 minutes for the judges to grow tired of his antics and call for the guards. Taking that as his cue, Stiles stood up and dusted himself off, picking out the Head Gamemaker amongst the crowd of ridiculously dressed men, and pinning him with the brightest smile he could manage, his eyes sharp and cold.

‘As I said when I came in, I’m Stiles Stilinski from District 4, and I think that these Games you’ve concocted are a piece of shit, as are all of you. I refuse to be a puppet in this fucked up melee, and that is what I have demonstrated to you today, my ability to retain control, my ability to pick my own course of action however limited the choices may be, and you can bet that that is something you will see in the Games. You may be from the Capitol and I may be a no one from the fishing District, but I am so much better than all of you. You think you have the right to play with people’s lives but you don’t. You have the means, the opportunity, but you _never_ have the right. And unless you learn that then nothing is ever going to change, this carnage will just continue indefinitely. And while I’m not deluded enough to think that anything I say will have any impact on you and your ego driven minds, I am forced to ask how you sleep at night? Because I honestly have no idea. How can you sleep knowing what you’ve done? Because I can barely sleep knowing that I am going to be a part of it. How the fuck do you live with yourselves? You should be ashamed of what you are doing. And you should understand that I am _never_ going to be a part of it.’

Breathing deeply he saluted before strutting from the room just as he had entered it, legs shaking, the stunned silence following him out. In somewhat of a daze he drifted back up to the fourth floor and flopped down onto the sofa between Erica and Boyd. Deaton tried to press him for information on how his demonstration went, but Stiles just smiled enigmatically before shrugging and deflecting the question to Allison who happily chattered away about the three bull’s-eyes she managed to make.

Together they waited for the results to be announced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are all being so nice and I absolutely LOVE to hear your feedback, I always do and always will. It makes this that much more fun to write. Anyway, I hope this was intense enough, after all we're almost in the arena now. Anything can happen there, case in point the summary gives away a rather crucial twist.
> 
> All will be revealed soon.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me. X


	7. The Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results are in leaving everyone in shock.

Across the districts everyone waited with bated breath to hear the results. A high number could mean the difference between life and death in the arena, the sponsors it bought with it ever important to the game. Beside him, Stiles could feel Allison practically vibrating in her seat as she watched the Results Show swim into focus on screen, her fingers gripped at her knees and a thick, dark lock of her hair was clamped in her mouth as she chewed on it nervously. Stiles plucked the paper aeroplane he’d been folding off of the table and smoothed out the slightly crooked wing with care he couldn’t remember ever having before.

Where Allison was frazzled, on edge waiting for the results that meant everything to her, he was the opposite. There was something calming about knowing your fate, knowing the outcome of a situation before it happened, no matter how bad that outcome may be. There was none of that hope, that anxiety, that push-pull between wishing and wanting to remain humble just in case.

The Career Tributes from District 1 got 9s as did the male tribute from District 2 and Stiles idly noted the name ‘Derek Hale’ flashing beneath the scowling picture of him. His female counterpart however, a ‘Kate’ something,  stormed ahead with an overwhelming 11, the stock photo of her smirking out of the screen as the commentators labelled her as ‘one to watch’, it was practically a ringing endorsement. Stiles glared at her but she just smirked back in pixel form. The District 3 Tributes were less impressive pulling in a 5 and 6 between them. It was still respectable, and Deaton murmured from his place on Allison’s right that no one should ever be overlooked just because of a low score, advice which Allison nodded along sagely to and Stiles tried to ignore.

Then, finally, it was time for them.

Despite being calm just seconds before, as the tension rocketed in the room Stiles found himself sitting straighter, heart beating just a little faster in his chest. Allison was first, her head popping up on screen as the commentators ran of the generic stats and facts about her and their District. Although they hadn’t exactly been getting along, what with the imminent murder spree in their futures, Stiles found himself placing a hand on her knee in a move to offer reassurance. When he wasn’t bucked off he kept it there and focused on the screen.

‘So,’ the tinny voices from the television said glancing noticeably at the autocue off screen with raised eyebrows, ‘she may be a nobody from the fishing District.’

The other one cut in.

‘A small fish in a big pond one might say.’

They chuckled at the awfully scripted joke before the first speaker ploughed on.

‘Yes, but Allison Argent has not failed to make her District proud with a score of 9, up there with the Careers from one and two. Incredible, perhaps we will be seeing a return of the Careers from District Four in the next couple of years. I’d advise keeping an eye on this firecracker too, she’s in it to win it, and isn’t that just what we want to see?’

Allison was up and cheering, Deaton pulling her in for an awkward hug, before Stiles could even register his hand slipping from her leg. But he was happy, pleased she was doing well, and pleased she’d found something to smile about in amongst all the madness. He could picture her parents back home, smiling at the television as they held each other close and prayed for her return. With such an impressive score it wasn’t actually that unrealistic.

‘Unfortunately…’

All eyes switched back to the screen as the commentators carried on speaking.

‘Her fellow Tribute ‘Stiles’ Stilinski has not done quite as well. In fact I’ve never seen anything like this before.’

The Peacock Lady gasped as the number flashed onto screen which Stiles couldn’t help but think was a little overdramatic, though he was quite dazed by the score himself. He’d expected low, but somehow he wasn’t prepared to see it broadcasted for all the Districts to witness.

‘0.1. A score so low that no one else has ever scored it before. In fact we have been told to stress that the rules state that no tribute can be awarded a zero so this is the lowest ranking that a Tribute can receive. Too bad Stiles, looks like you made enemies where you should have made friends. But still, may the odds be ever in your favour. Moving on, in District 5…’

Stiles launched the paper plane, willing it to fly on the air of amazed confusion permeating the room. It didn’t, instead nose diving into the floor only feet away from Stiles. He frowned at it.

‘How on earth did you manage a score _that_ low?’

Deaton’s eyes were sharp as they scrutinised Stiles with a new found disappointment. Stiles had been unaware his distain could reach new lows, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken. After all he thought he’d be happy to have proved his rebellion, instead he just felt numb.

‘Umm, I guess I’m just special.’

Fixing a cocky smile onto his face Stiles pushed himself up from the sofa and shoved his hands into his pockets hoping he looked the part of casual, laid back teenager, instead of the awkwardly nervous kid he was.

‘No, what you are is an idiot. This is as good as a death sentence Stiles. Don’t you get that this isn’t a game?’

Turning towards his room Stiles began to walk towards it but he stopped in the doorway.

‘Sometimes I think I’m the only one who remembers this isn’t a game. Have fun playing Allison.’

He shut the door before they could respond.

* * *

Erica had dragged him from his room less than an hour later complaining viciously about losing a bet to Boyd because of him. Cowed by her rant Stiles let himself be pulled by the arm without complaint until he was once again being plucked and perfected by Isaac and Jackson, though thankfully there was significantly less plucking than the day before. He was beginning to worry his body hair would never grow back.

Erica bustled back into the room an hour after she had deposited him brandishing yet another garment bag. Recalling the merman costume from the night before Stiles blanched, but she pulled out a three piece suit instead and waved it in front of him. The shirt was a dark, crisp blue and the trousers were black but the waistcoat was a vivid red that caught the eye without effort. It definitely wasn’t a traditional suit but when he said as much Erica scoffed and replied,

‘Yeah well, with your score I’m just hoping this gets you _noticed_ , who cares if it’s for good or bad reasons. Now shut up and let Isaac do your makeup.’

So Stiles had dressed in the suit, surprisingly pleased with the way it looked when on, and headed down to the studio that he’d be having his Pre Game interview in. He’d been forbidden by Jackson to touch his hair because the stylist had spent nearly an hour taming it after applying some sort of cream that grew it out slightly, so he plucked at the suit sleeves instead of running his hand across his scalp like he desperately wanted to.

Luckily he didn’t have to wait long to be ushered into the wings of the stage to await his cue. The studio was packed, every member of the audience hanging off of Caesar’s word as he introduced Stiles. For once Stiles was going before Allison.

‘And next, a guy who has been the talk of the town for breaking the record of lowest score in the history of the Games, Mr Stiles Stilinski, come on out here.’

Waving and smiling, Stiles sauntered onto stage, beaming out at the crowd and fighting the urge to wince at the camera flashes. He shook Caesar’s hand and sunk into the chair set out for him. The red fabric matched his waistcoat.

‘So Stiles, how did you manage a 0.1?’

He chuckled in a way he hoped was charming and not hinting at the edge of hysteria bubbling up inside of him.

‘Wow, right to the point aren’t you Caesar? I suppose you could say it’s a talent of mine.’

‘Failing?’

Ouch. That hurt.                               

He smiled, sugary sweet.

‘No, surprising people. Thinking with my own head instead of following the pack. I think it would be a very different world if there were more people who thought like me.’

He wondered if his dig at the Capitol was as obvious as he hoped it was, judging by the way Caesar shifted in his chair he had understood what Stiles was really getting at, but he wasn’t about to acknowledge it. His smile slipped from somewhat genuine to completely plastic as he rallied with another question, it was fairly obvious he didn’t like Stiles. Stiles was ok with that.

‘So, Stiles, do you think you have a chance of winning?’

He paused for dramatic effect before slumping back into his seat with an audible 'oomph' and threw his hands into the air clumsily.

‘Of course not, have you seen the muscles on the guys? Come to think of it have you seen the muscles on the _girls?_ Even that 11 year old girl from District 12 could take me down no question. I’m 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, I’d be surprised if I made it an hour in the arena.’

The audience was strangely hushed but with the lights blinding him Stiles couldn’t work out whether it was out of disappointment or awe. He shrugged and wiped his sweaty hands off on his suit trousers ignoring Erica’s angry voice in his head, the stage was boiling hot.

‘That’s very pessimistic Stiles, where’s the passion, the spark, the optimism?’

The crowd cheered encouragingly.

‘I don’t know, I must have left them back in my District, after all, I didn’t really have much time to pack before I was torn away from what’s left of my family.’

He saw Caesar gape a little, momentarily lost for words. He was used to Tributes who had been taught _exactly_ how to act and schooled in _exactly_ what to say, he couldn’t have known that Stiles’ mentor had given up on him. He couldn’t have known that in facing Stiles he was dealing with a loose cannon who had nothing to lose. He couldn’t have known so Stiles just smiled serenely and waited for him to find his words again. Caesar cleared his throat.

‘Yes, well hopefully you’ll find them before the Games start. It was lovely talking to you Stiles. Good luck.’

Somehow his ‘good luck’ sounded more like a final goodbye, and why shouldn’t it? They both knew there was no way he was ever going to be on that stage again.

As he passed Allison in the wings he gave her an encouraging thumbs up which she studiously ignored. Listening to Caesar call his name he let Erica whisk him away to change out of his suit, realising with a strangely numb heart that in all probability he had less than 24 hours to live.

As she bitched at him for getting sweat on his suit, he asked Erica to order him curly fries before throwing up all down the waistcoat.

He grinned up at her guiltily, stepping back as he took in her livid expression.

There was a possibility Erica would kill him before he even made it to the arena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate ending chapters. They always sound so lame. Next chapter we enter the Games. Hold onto your hats people, we're going to have some fun.


	8. Into The Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins.

10

The metal plate Stiles was suspended on shifted slightly as it began to lower towards the ground. He’d never been a big fan of heights, the swooping in his stomach far too reminiscent of the beginnings of a panic attack for it to be anywhere near pleasant.

9

The ground far below was stone, hard and unforgiving, deadly if he fell. Crouching down to keep his balance, he prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

8

The lower they got the more he could see the other Tributes weighing up the risk. If they jumped early and made it they were free and clear to disappear down the steps and into the undergrowth surrounding the raised stone platform. However, if they fell badly, they could die before anyone even came after them. If they injured themselves their odds plummeted.

7

It was mainly the weaker kids who seemed to be contemplating taking the plunge, the Careers and confident tributes looking content to sit back and wait to be lowered into the almost inevitable blood bath that would follow. There were weapons scattered across the top of the raised platform, and neon coloured packs sitting tantalizingly in a central cluster. They were prizes to be fought for, they made the jump that much more tempting.

6

The girl from District 10 lost her footing and Stiles watched as she tumbled off of her small metal plate. With nothing better to do than wait to be deposited, all eyes were on her as she managed to cling onto the lip of the disc but her arms were too weak to hoist herself back up. Even from across the clearing, Stiles could see the tears in her eyes as her arms shook under the pressure. The Careers from District 2 started taunting her from where they stood, labelling her as weak, promising her she wouldn’t make it through the day.

5

Clearly shaken by the goading, the boy from District 5 took a chance and leapt. His hood caught on the disc he’d jumped from and he flipped in mid-air. There was a second of screaming before the sound was cut off by the wet splatter of his body meeting the stone head first. There was a single cannon blast in the distance.

4

The plates sped up in there descent, plummeting towards the ground faster and faster. Stiles wished there was something to hold onto. Instead he crouched down even further and closed his eyes against the sharp wind.

3

There was a shrill scream and Stiles forced his eyes open. The District 10 girl had lost her grip and fallen like the boy from District 5. However, the mere seconds between their falls seemed to have made all the difference and the rest of the Tributes watched as she pushed herself to her feet, arm bleeding and ankle twisted, and limp-ran down the stone steps and into the tree line after pausing to grab one of the bright orange packs. She didn’t stop for a weapon.

2

Seeing it was possible, a few other Tributes made the leap, but the boy from District 2 was amongst them, as was Kate, the bitch from District 1. Within moments of their dismount the fighting had started, vicious and brutal. With a sinking heart Stiles felt his disc slow as he neared the battle ground.

1

Tentatively he stepped off his plate, noticing, if only barely, that they then rocketed back into the sky.

He was instantly surrounded by chaos.

On his left two boys were battling it out, though only one of them had a weapon, the sharp glint of the sword catching the light as it arced towards its victim. The tip of the blade came so close that Stiles could feel the displaced air catch against his cheek and he took a step back instinctively.

He narrowly avoided the spiked ball of a mace as it spun through the air, but no one was paying much attention to him. He figured that that was what the lowest score in history got you, it meant you weren’t a threat, you weren’t a target, you were practically invisible. That was something to be thankful for at least.

With her impressive 9 in the results, Allison wasn’t so under the radar, but she’d managed to locate a bow amongst the chaos, as well as what looked like a rusty machete, and was fighting her way through the crowd of people aiming for a large purple pack lying amongst the others. For a second Stiles considered trying to slip into the centre and grab a pack for himself, but as a knife sliced a thin line up the length of his forearm, he decided against it, pushing away from the crowd and towards the tree line.

Several of the Tributes had already fled into the woods, and more lay dead or dying on the flagstone that was now tacky and crimson with the blood of the injured. As more ran or fell, the fighting began to die down around him, and Stiles knew he had to get out while he was still somewhat invisible. Leaping over the body of the District 6 girl whose chest was almost completely cut open, he made a beeline for the closest edge of the forest. He stumbled slightly as his foot caught on something, and he crashed to the ground, right knee knocking painfully against the stone. As quick as he could he pushed himself back to his feet and glanced down to see what had tripped him. His heart quickened as he took in the yellow pack grasped in the cold hand of the fallen District 6 girl. Stooping to grab the strap the girl wasn’t holding, Stiles tugged hard enough that one of her fingers cracked and he winced, but it was enough to loosen her hold on the pack, and swinging it onto his shoulder he legged it down the steps and into the trees no stopping until the sound of fighting was completely inaudible. Only then did he collapse in a pile of limbs at the base of a tree, and suck in the breath he had been fighting for since the moment he’d stepped off of the plate.

The pack slipped from his shoulder.

With shaking fingers it took a few tries to loosen the buckle on the pack but he managed eventually, smiling as the ties slackened beneath his fingers.

It was one of the smaller packs, less impressive and fancy as the larger ones, but useful none the less. There were the usual water purifying tablets, and a few staple foods that wouldn’t last long so he nibbled on them as he sorted through the rest of the items. He was ecstatic when he came across the trap kits stacked on top of each other in the left hand pocket, noting that they would be perfect for the forest he was in. A caterpillar like creature crawled onto his shoulder and he flicked it off impatiently. There were also a series of small plastic containers and a bottle for water and anything he caught, a box of matches, a rope, a plastic sheet, six metal pins, and, right at the bottom, three daggers with a thigh holster.

After a moment of hesitation Stiles slipped the daggers into the holster and fixed it onto his leg. Even with his stance against the Games it never hurt to be ready for anything, and now that he was playing ‘anything’ seemed a lot more real.

Also, the daggers were pretty badass.

Once that was done he set about forming a couple of the traps so he could catch dinner, setting them strategically around his campsite. They’d started pretty late in the day and night was falling fast, the fake atmosphere of the arena twinkling down at him as he wrapped himself in the plastic sheet for warmth. Shuffling back into the undergrowth, Stiles waited for one of his traps to catch something, glancing up as the faces of the fallen Tributes were projected against the stars.

8 dead. 16 still alive.

Both Tributes from District 3 had fallen, and of course the boy from District 5 who had splattered against the stone before the Games had even begun was up there. The girls from 6 and 8 joined them, and Stiles was somewhat disappointed to see that the girl from District 10 had also died. Her luck obviously hadn’t followed her into the trees. Finally both Tributes from District 12 were shown, before the crest of the Capitol swam back into view and then faded.

16 still alive.

15 still to fight.

He hung his head and reminded himself to breath.

There was a shuffling noise nearby and Stiles froze up. It got louder, the crunch of leaves under boots as opposed to paws, and Stiles swore under his breath. Slipping out of the plastic sheet and tucking the pack out of sight, he manoeuvred himself until he could see the intruder.

It was a boy, about his age, with the number 7 emblazoned on his chest. Stiles remembered him from training, he’d spoken briefly to Allison, but spent most of the time lurking around the plants table. Stiles had run into him briefly when he’d gone to see which plants were edible, but the boy, Matt something, was more interested in which were poisonous and harmful. There’d been something inherently creepy about the way he’d smiled at Stiles, and looking at his hunting prey through the undergrowth, the unease only multiplied.

Stiles’ foot slipped against the moss at the base of the tree he was hiding behind, and he stumbled. Matt whirled towards him, sword clenched in his hand, and eyes sharp. Knowing there was no point hiding anymore Stiles stepped out of the undergrowth to face him. Matt only smiled wider when he saw Stiles.

‘Ah, aren’t I lucky. I get the easiest kill of the Games.’

Advancing, he spun his wrist so that the sword swooped gracefully in his hand.

‘Should I even bother or do you want to lay down and make it easy for me?’

Despite his words Matt watched Stiles carefully, clearly wary of some hidden attack. The daggers against his thigh pushed against his skin, but even facing down his own death Stiles couldn’t bring himself to pull one out. Anyway, he doubted he’d even manage to grip the handle before his head hit the floor. Attacking was clearly out of the question, the way Matt was wielding his sword spoke of skill beyond anything Stiles had in him. But he wasn’t about to lay down like Matt had suggested, he wasn’t that pathetic. There was only one option he could think of.

Backing up carefully so as not to trip and make himself more of a target, Stiles did what he did best.

He talked.

He babbled about how he’d expected Matt to have used poison against his victims after seeing him at the herbal table, and how his sword skills were really quite cool. He asked various questions that weren’t answered, and then used those questions to spark more conversation by hypothesizing the answers himself.

The entire time he spoke he continued to back up, Matt following him forward basically step for step, sword still poised to slash, but apparently confused enough by Stiles’ babble not to strike. Either he didn’t seem to gather that Stiles was playing for time, or he didn’t care. Finally, when his back hit a tree trunk and he had nowhere else to go, Stiles stopped talking and sighed in defeat. Matt grinned.

‘As interesting as all that was, I think it’s time we finished this now, don’t you?’

For once Stiles didn’t answer, just stared unblinkingly into Matt’s eyes and lifted his chin defiantly, he wasn’t going to die cowering, he wasn’t going to let that be the last thing his dad ever saw him do. Matt lifted the sword and swung it down towards Stiles’ shoulder and across his chest, stepping forward for balance as he did so. There was a sound like a whip crack as his foot made contact with the ground, and, not wasting a second, Stiles tucked and rolled, ducking down below the sword arc. With a shout of surprise Matt was hoisted by his foot into the air, dangling uselessly, suspended from a tree branch by one of the traps Stiles had set up to catch game. Squawking indignantly Matt twisted against his bindings, but they held firm, and when he went to swipe at them with his sword, he lost his grip and it tumbled into the tree litter with a crunch.

Standing up and brushing the leaves from his clothes Stiles couldn’t help but grin at his handiwork. Hanging upside down by one foot and spinning in slow circles, Matt was a sight to behold, his face colouring slightly as all the blood rushed to it. When he spun to face Stiles he shouted at him angrily.

‘Hey, cut me down.’

Stiles smirked at him.

‘I can’t believe that worked.’

‘Cut me down you idiot.’

Stiles wondered where the arrogance came from. Obviously Matt didn’t think him capable of killing him, probably because of his pathetic reputation, but still, bating your captor? Never a smart move no matter the situation.

He went to answer, a cutting retort laced with sarcasm mostly to stall for time because in all honesty, he had no idea what he was going to do with the dangling District 7 Tribute, but he was cut off by the sound of crunching leaves. The same sound of crunching leaves that had brought Matt to him. From the panicked look on the boy’s purpling face, he’d heard it too.

The footsteps were getting closer, brisk and steady, like a light jog, and Stiles figured he had seconds before he was discovered.

Sparing a last glance towards Matt, he dove back into the undergrowth he’d been curled in before, and prayed it camouflaged him enough. He’d barely settled when the Tribute broke through the trees and jogged into vision. Stiles stopped breathing completely.

‘Oh my _god._ ’

It was the boy from District 2, one of the Careers, and he barked out a surprised laugh when he caught sight of Matt dangling from a tree. Without seeming to think, he flicked Matt’s dropped sword up from the ground with his foot, passed it into his hand, and stabbed it through Matt’s chest without hesitation. Matt twitched for a second, his breath ragged with pain, before he fell silent, all the life dripping out of the hole in his chest.

It all happened so quickly.

The Career watched Matt die with curiosity, before pulling a rag from his pack and cleaning the blood off the blade, slipping it into his belt carefully when he was done, shifting from foot to foot to check it wasn’t going to cut him accidently when he was running. When he was content, he cleaned off his hands, shoved the rag back into his pack, before nudging Matt’s limp body with his foot to check he was dead. Seconds later the cannon shot rang out. Stiles flinched slightly from where he was hiding, hoping beyond hope that the Career would just move on. The boy was still poking at Matt’s body, apparently patting him down for anything of use.

‘Caught in his own fucking trap. _Such_ an idiot.’

He flicked Matt’s nose.

‘Well, survival of the fittest and all that. See ya, loser.’

He cackled as he flicked Matt once more, shooting a thumbs up to one of the cameras mounted on a nearby branch, before disappearing off into the trees, carrying on with the path he’d been taking when he’d stumbled upon them, probably searching out more victims while they camped.

Stiles didn’t move for 10 minutes, despite the fact that his legs were protesting the crouch he’d forced himself into. He just stared at the body, sluggishly dripping blood onto the leaves below, and tried not to throw up. How someone could kill so easily, take so much joy from it, he couldn’t understand. So he just watched Matt’s corpse spin, his mind strangely blank, thankful he hadn’t been found, but humbled by the image that was most probably his future.

By the time the helicopters came to collect the body, Stiles had moved on, knowing he wouldn’t sleep at all that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this was exciting enough. Kate and Derek are up next. You guys are awesome.


	9. Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When looking for water Stiles comes across something much more disturbing. He makes a decision that will affect everything.

Eventually Stiles found a place to settle down for the evening. He’d run on and off for an hour, the image of Matt’s lifeless body stuck, swinging, in his head whenever he stopped to breathe, so he’d done the best thing he could think of, he’d run.

He’d run until his lungs were burning and bile rose in his throat, and then he’d run for 10 more minutes before he’d finally collapsed in a small ditch at the base of a tree, panting and sweating, spots in front of his eyes. It had taken only minutes to slip into an uneasy rest, his body emotionally and physically worn out from the day’s events, and his pack pressing uncomfortably into his shoulders. Sometime during the night another cannon cut through the silence, but Stiles didn’t even flinch, his mind completely exhausted.

It wasn’t until a ray of bright, artificial sunshine managed to weave its way through the thick canopy and shone directly on Stiles’ face, that he woke, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stretching until he heard his bones pop. His back was sore from sleeping in his pack all night, but the rest had done him good, his mind clearer and less troubled than it had been when he’d fallen asleep. The beams of light made everything glow pleasantly.

Standing up and brushing off his clothes, his stomach rumbled loudly, a watery, empty sound that reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since before the incident with Matt. Most of the traps he’d found in his pack had ended up left by Matt’s body, too shaken to remember to collect them before bolting into the trees and getting the hell out of there, but he still had two coiled up in his bag, so he set them up hoping they’d catch whatever he heard shifting constantly in the woods. That done he fished the bottle from his bag and shoved the water purifying tablets into his pocket, stashing his pack under some leaves so that he didn’t have to carry it around with him while he scouted for water.

Leaving his clearing behind he picked a direction and walked in it, making sure not to wander too far lest he lose the only belongings he had. Though he had not had the nerve to use them in his fight against Matt, the cool press of the daggers strapped to his thigh offered comfort as he jogged through the unfamiliar landscape of the arena.

When the thickness of the forest began to lessen Stiles slowed his pace to walking. With the crunch of leaves below his boots quieter the sound of running water assaulted his ears and he smiled, the dryness of his throat evident with every step he took, the burn insistent after having been ignored for so long. When the sharp blades of light made their way firmly through the tree line, inviting Stiles to step into the clearing beyond, he finally looked upon the source of the water, a glistening pool, wide and deep, glittering in the sunlight, streams trickling into the forest, fed by the waterfall cascading into the pool. It was beautiful, the water clear and blue, like none he had seen even coming from the fishing district himself. He wanted nothing more than to bathe himself in it, lose himself in the water, so clean and pure that he bet he could open his eyes under the surface without problem, but he didn’t, instead he stayed obscured by the last row of trees and stared. For the clearing was not empty.

As he watched, Kate, the girl from District 1 dragged a body towards the lake, her muscles barely straining against the weight though the body was substantial. When she reached the lakeside she pulled the body to standing, balancing it against her, laughing when they stumbled. From the new angle Stiles could see the other Tribute, though he was not surprised to see it was Derek, Kate’s counterpart from their District. His hands were unbound, but his eyes were half lidded and even from where Stiles was standing he could make out the vivid red lines crisscrossing his eyes. It was a symptom of Greygrass poison, a plant which tightened the muscles until movement was impossible and your insides felt like they were on fire but didn’t affect brain function, ensuring that the victim felt everything. It was a popular form of torture. Stiles had seen it in the training room, though he had never expected to encounter it in the arena.

‘So pretty, so so pretty. Such a shame to waste such beauty’

Kate was speaking quietly to Derek’s prone form, stroking taloned fingers down his cheek softly, almost as if she hadn’t drugged him and wasn’t planning to kill him in seconds. She cocked her head as Derek tried to speak, but his jaw was locked by the Greygrass and he only managed to groan in pain. She laughed cruelly leaning in as if to hear him better, acidic smirk spilling out onto her features before she ducked in closer pressing her lips to his. Unable to struggle, Derek stood burning in his place while she took her time in withdrawing. In the tree line Stiles shifted uncomfortably at the scene, foot catching on stone which slipped, crashing noisily from its perch. By the water Kate jolted back, eyes darting towards Stiles but not catching him as he ducked down and out of sight in time.

Only when she spoke again did he rise, knowing he should turn and run or he’d be her next victim, but part of him was unwilling to do so. There was an unspoken rule of the Games: to kill quickly. If you had to kill you made it fast and in return, if your time came, you would only feel the pain for seconds before you slipped away. The way Kate was making Derek suffer was cruel, he was trapped inside his own body as it burned, watching as his killer made a mockery of him in front of the world, but unable to end his suffering. This went beyond necessity; this was evil at its basest.

‘It seems our privacy has been disturbed, how sad. I had so wanted to watch your pathetic life drip from your body but it seems that I won’t be able to stick around to see that. Oh well, I guess I’ll watch it back on the television when I win.’

Derek groaned again and she hushed him, fingers brushing against his lips gently.

‘Oh now, don’t be like that. I promise you’ll be my favourite victim, these other idiots mean nothing to me sweetheart. But you, you mean _everything_. I’ll never forget _you_.’

With one last press of lips she shoved at his chest, watching with glee as he toppled backwards into the rippling surface of the lake, his body crashing through the water and sending the droplets flying like diamonds. Unable to move Derek sank, engulfed by the pool like he was being swallowed whole by some monster. Kate stood and watched until he hit the bottom, face curiously blank, before she blew a kiss towards the water and jogged over to the small collection of items she’d obviously brought with her. Once she’d slipped everything into place she took one last look at the lake, still sparkling serenely though there was now a life slipping away beneath the surface, before smiling to herself and disappearing into the forest.

As soon as he couldn’t hear her any longer Stiles set off running, pulling his daggers off of his thigh and stripping the shirt over his head and the boots off of his feet. By the time he was lake side he was half naked, a trail of clothes lining the path he’d taken, and poised to dive. The water hit him like a cool breeze welcoming him home. Breathing out through his nose Stiles rocketed through the water, aiming for Derek’s motionless body, hoping he hadn’t left it too long. When his fingers tangled in cloth he kicked out, feet propelling him towards the light as fast as they could with the extra weight. His chest was heaving with the exertion and by the time they broke the surface he found himself gasping for air. Derek flopped in his grip, unconscious from lack of oxygen, but heart still beating in his chest and Stiles pulled them both into the shallows before dragging Derek onto the bank so he could attempt to revive him, for once thankful for the mind numbing first aid lessons he’d been subjected to in school.

Stiles managed to clear his airways so he was breathing normally again but he knew the poison was a whole different problem. It was unclear how long the plant had been in Derek’s system, it normally took 4 hours to kill a person, 5 if they were strong, but the strain on Derek’s body seemed to be speeding up the process. He wasn’t in danger of drowning anymore, but the poison was killing him anyway. Stiles groaned in annoyance as he pushed to his feet staring down at Derek, wondering if his unblinking eyes could actually see him or not.

This was a man he had never met, a person he owed nothing to. It would be easier to leave him there and walk back to his stuff, try to keep himself alive one more day, this had nothing to do with him. But that wasn’t strictly true anymore, this _was_ about him because he’d pulled Derek from the water, he’d dived in to save his enemy, he’d brought him back from the brink of death, a death kinder than the one Derek would suffer through if he left him now.

Turning away Stiles made his decision.

The coolness of the forest hit him as he ducked out of the baking sun, the sounds of the animals burning bright in the shade. Running as fast as his legs would take him Stiles followed his instincts back to his camp, relieved when he finally broke into the familiar setting. His bare feet were stinging where the undergrowth had cut at them, but he paid them no mind as he gathered up his things, pulling down the traps with nimble fingers and stashing the rabbit and squirrel he found in his bag hastily. Still breathing heavily from the run Stiles stepped over to the tree he had slept against the night before, eyes scanning the crushed moss tufting out of the bark. A small purple flower, missing a petal, sat nestled in amongst the moss and he sighed in relief as he plucked it from its spot, glad his memory hadn’t played tricks on him. Gripping the delicate flower hard he threw on the pack and set off running again.

Derek was still breathing when he got back to the lakeside, but it was ragged and harsher than it had been when he’d left. Flinging the strap off of his shoulder Stiles collapsed to his knees and tore the petals off of the plant before ripping into what was left, revealing the small black seeds inside. Leaning over Derek he poured them into his mouth, scooping water from the lake into his hand so he could dribble it down Derek’s throat to ease the seeds into his system.

When he was done he looked down at Derek’s pale face and sighed deeply, rubbing tired fingers over his own face and wondered what the hell he was doing. Standing up, he collected his discarded items, redressing in his shirt and boots and strapping his daggers back onto his leg.

Sitting back down beside Derek, stopping briefly to press cautious fingers to the pulse in the other man’s neck, Stiles picked up the bottle and filled it, slipping in one of the purifying tablets just in case, before taking a long, leisurely drink. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Stiles fell back onto his elbows, legs spread out in front of him and sun beating down from above. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine being back on the shores of District 4, sun bathing with Scott and trying to work up the courage to talk to Lydia. He wondered what they thought of him now, whether they were proud or disappointed by what he’d done. He hoped they were proud, or at the very least understood why he’d done it. He thought maybe his dad would, his dad always understood, even when Stiles didn’t. Glancing over at Derek, who’s breathing was becoming less laboured, he wished his dad was there to tell him what to do, because he honestly had no clue. Everything was a mess, completely fucked up. He had no plan, no strategy and he’d just saved his opponent’s life for no apparent reason. He was quite possibly the biggest idiot in all 12 Districts _and_ the Capitol, and all of it had been broadcasted to everyone. He knew somewhere Deaton was having an aneurism.

Tipping his head back and clearing his mind, Stiles let himself smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel horrible because I made a promise that this would be up 2 days ago and I failed (please don't hate me), but I hope it's good enough to prevent you from killing me and the next one will be up as soon as I can manage. 
> 
> And it will include Stiles and Derek actually interacting. Yay. It only took 9 chapters!
> 
> Thank you guys for sticking with me, please tell me if there's something you don't like (or do), as always I'd love to hear from you.


	10. Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek wakes up and meets Stiles. There's something about him that Derek just wants to protect.  
> Before he knows it, he's in too deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Derek's POV for once. Proper interaction guys, how exciting.

As soon as Derek could move his limbs he sat up, choking as the water still in his lungs pushed back against his chest. Beside him someone shifted and Derek spun round, instantly on the attack.

‘Woah, woah, easy man. I’m not going to hurt you, you’re safe. It’s all good. You’re safe now’

The boy made to pat Derek’s arm, but he flinched away, scowling viciously.

‘Stop talking to me like I’m some spooked animal. Who the fuck are you?’

‘The name’s Stiles, I’m from District 4.’

Derek considered him, growling under his breath when he recognised him.

‘You’re that idiot that got the lowest score in history aren’t you? _Great_. This is like walking around with a target on my back.’

‘Hey I’m the idiot who just pulled your ass from the bottom of a lake, I’d check the attitude if I were you. And considering you were half dead when I pulled you out, I'd say you already have a pretty big target on your back without me.’

Derek paused, eyebrows furrowing as he took in the boy before him, all long limbs and pale skin, his clothes still a little bit damp. He looked down at himself, his own shirt sticking uncomfortably to his chest. He glanced back up at Stiles, face incredulous.

‘Why _did_ you save me?’ Anger, confusion, disbelief.

Stiles sighed, fingers twitching against his knee.

‘You looked like you needed the help, I was passing through the area, heard the kerfuffle, and decided that I could spare the time from my busy schedule to lend a hand, so I dived down and pulled you out, and let me tell you man, you weigh a _ton_.’

‘You saved my life. Those aren’t the rules of this game.’

Stiles' face darkened, his eyes intense, voice low.

‘I don’t _like_ the rules of this game.’

Almost as quickly as it had come, the darkness lifted leaving Derek staring at a grinning Stiles. He pushed himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as his muscles loosened. He vaguely registered Stiles doing the same, eyes fixed on Derek like he was waiting for a response. Never one to disappoint he turned to face the still smiling boy, smirking meanly when they locked gazes.

‘They were right, you _are_ an idiot.’

Instead of getting offended like Derek had thought he would, Stiles just nodded and laughed.

‘I’ve been told that before, it’s part of my charm.’

Derek popped his neck, hissing as the joints clicked.

‘I’m sure,’ he paused for a second, ‘whatever. I’ll see you around.’

‘Wait. Where are you going?’

‘Away.’

Stiles cocked his head curiously.

‘Why?’

Derek squinted at Stiles.

‘Do you _want_ me to kill you?’

‘Woah, dude. What’s with the hostility? I was just asking.’

‘And I was just answering you. You saved me, I’m not going to turn around and kill you for that. I’m not _that_ much of a dick and despite the fact that it was a really stupid thing to do, I am, kind of, er, _grateful_ for that. But it’s not like we can hang out and be best friends, braiding each other’s hair, that’s not how this works no matter what morons like you say. So I’m going to go one way, you’re going to go the other way, and we’re going to hope we don’t meet again.’

He ignored the guilt that stabbed at him as Stiles’ face fell. It wasn’t like he owed anything to him, it wasn’t like he _asked_ Stiles to jump into the lake and drag him to shore, resuscitate him and chase the poison from his system. Stiles made that choice himself. He shouldn’t expect anything in return. That wasn’t how this worked. Derek had nothing to feel guilty about. So why did he?

There was a rustling sound in the trees and Derek spun around. The pout slipped from Stiles’ face as he noted Derek’s panic and he spun a 360, eyes wide like a startled deer.

‘What was that?’

Stiles’ voice was too loud, cutting through the intense quiet. Derek resisted the urge to punch him in the face, instead pulling him to his chest by his arm and clamping a hand over his mouth. There was another rustle, louder this time, and Stiles shifted slightly, hand coming up to grab Derek’s forearm where it was settled against his stomach, but he oddly enough didn’t make an attempt to remove himself from the grip, just held on, fingers warm against Derek’s skin.

The rustling stopped, the quiet falling back into place uncomfortably as Derek desperately tried to find its source in amongst the dense tree line. A sharp pain in his arm made him glance down at Stiles who was shaking a little in his grip, fingernails cutting into Derek’s flesh. Before he could get angry, Stiles pressed his fingernails into his arm again and whispered something that sounded suspiciously like Derek’s name, despite the fact Derek had never actually given him his name. Following Stiles’ panicked eye line, Derek watched as a girl appeared between two trees off to the right of where they stood. Dropping the hand from Stiles’ mouth, he used the one round his waist to pull him back a safe distance, pausing briefly before stepping in front of the smaller Tribute, using his body to partially block Stiles from view. He idly wondered where the instinct the protect had risen from.

The girl was filthy; hair matted with dirt, face streaked with mud and leaves in what was probably an effective camouflage, but just added to the filth when she stepped away from the trees. In the light, patches of what looked like blood streaked her clothes, but apart from a scratch on her cheek, no other injuries were visible leading Derek to  conclude, somewhat warily, that it was obviously not her own. Behind him Stiles let out a pained sigh, but Derek ignored the insane urge to turn and check he was alright, unwillingness to turn his back on an enemy outweighing any surfacing compassion.

He told himself that he only willingly had his back to Stiles because he was too useless to be a threat. He didn’t trust him. He couldn’t.

The girl smiled, teeth incredibly white against the mud smeared across her face.

‘I was wondering where you’d got to Stiles. It’s good to see you again. I would have put money on you dying before the first cannon show, but look at you, surprising everyone. Congratulations sweet heart.’

As she spoke she pulled an arrow from her quiver and notched it onto the delicate bow clutched in her hand. Once it was balanced in place she looked back up, eyes lingering on Derek.

‘I see you’ve made a friend, how sweet. Though it doesn’t change the fact that I am going to have to kill you. Both of you. You understand don’t you? I have to get home. I have to win.

‘If it’s any consolation I had hoped that someone else would kill you before I got to you, I mean we were never that close but Scott loves you like a brother and it will probably drive a wedge between us, but he’ll understand eventually. I killed you because I love him. He’ll understand.’

She spoke steadily, calmly, like they were discussing the weather and not murdering each other for love. It wasn’t like Derek understood all of what she was saying, who Scott was he had no idea, but he got the general gist of it, and the girl seemed a little unhinged. She spoke rationally, but her eyes were wild.

He felt Stiles step forward so he was shoulder to shoulder with him, clearly making a point of not hiding from the girl. Derek was strangely proud. He didn’t know much about the boy, but he obviously had no qualms about showing the world he wasn’t as pathetic as he looked. The girl looked equally as impressed, and a little incredulous, that Stiles wasn’t using him as a human shield but that wasn’t surprising considering the fact that with her bow notched and the evil looking hunting knife sticking out of her boot, she was pretty well armed and the pair of them were weaponless. They were pretty damn out matched.

‘Allison.’

There wasn’t anger in the word, just disappointment, like a parent willing their child to understand that they’d done something wrong. Derek was reminded of his own family, waiting for him at home.

‘Don’t look at me like that Stiles. Don’t judge me. I’m doing what I have to, I’m doing what I must, and if that means killing you and your body guard then so be it. This is mercy, I’m showing you _mercy_. Can’t you see that? You were never going to win Stiles, we all knew that, even you know that, but I can lessen your suffering, I can make it quick. Virtually painless.’

Subconsciously Derek shifted to block Stiles again. The words falling from the girl – _Allison’s_ – mouth setting him on edge. He flinched when Stiles touched his shoulder, but he didn’t shrug it off, using the contact to know where Stiles was while keeping his eyes fixed on Allison.

‘What happened to you Allison? I can’t even see you anymore.' 

‘I haven’t changed Stiles, I’ve just adapted.’

‘And I believe you honestly think that but if you could see yourself right now, see the look in your eyes, I don’t think you’d recognise yourself. This is what the Games do Allison, they change people. They mould them into ruthless killers. Tell me you don’t like it, the killing, at least a little bit. Tell me it doesn’t thrill you to overpower someone, to survive where others don’t, because I can see it in your eyes, the pleasure, you look… feral, and honestly, it’s fucking terrifying.’

‘I did what I had to.’

Stiles hung his head, defeat heavy on his shoulders as he exhaled.

‘I know. I’m not blaming you. I’ve changed too. I just wish we hadn’t had to is all. I wish I’d never had to see this side of you.’

Allison didn’t respond, but her eyes went cold. Her grip on the bow tightened as she lifted it, smiling a little manically as she settled three fingers onto the string and drew back her elbow.

‘I guess it’s your bodyguard first Stiles. Oh and don’t try to run, I _will_ catch you and then you’ll see what I can _really_ do. That goes for you too big guy, you only get the quick and painless option once otherwise you get to see what slow and painful is really like.’

She breathed deeply, centring herself as she fixed her target over Derek’s heart. He wanted to run, to move, to attack, but he couldn’t make himself. He knew that, unarmed, she would cut him down in seconds, and not as clean as if he were to stand still and make it easy for her. And maybe that was the most sensible idea, to just let Allison take her shot and end him, quick and painlessly, take him away from the messed up world he was living in. A world where people thought that forcing children, god damn _children_ , to fight was the epitome of fun. A world where people were so completely unequal that the concept of equality was on par with unicorns wielding machine guns trampling through the undergrowth and whisking him away from the hell he was living. A world that took everything from him but his cold, empty life, and then tried to take that too. There really wasn’t all that much to live for. And at least it wasn’t Kate pulling the trigger, that was something.

He felt the press of Stiles’ fingers leave his shoulder and he wondered if Stiles was planning to run. He wouldn’t blame him. He was doing a pretty good impression of a human shield for whatever reason, Stiles might even be able to make it into the trees before Allison notched another arrow.

He wouldn’t blame him.

He closed his eyes.

A piercing scream tore through the silence that had settled in Derek’s blood, and he wrenched his eyes open to see what he had missed.

The first thing he noticed was the arrow that sliced through the air mere feet from his head. The second was Allison. She was knelt on the floor, bow discarded off to the side, and fingers pressed to her shoulder at the point where metal met flesh. A dagger protruded from her skin, hilt glinting in the sunlight, and she pawed at it breathlessly, trying to pull it free. He watched in shocked stillness as she gripped it tight and pulled it out, scream echoing through the forest as it tore from her throat, blood quickly spilling out of the void left by the dagger.

‘Oh god.’

Stiles stumbled towards her, face pale as he watched Allison’s clothes saturate with her blood, the endless stream slipping though her fingers as she tried to stem the flow. He stopped just out of her reach, and Derek watched the tears collect at the corners of his eyes as he gazed down at the writhing girl. He swallowed as Stiles looked up, watery eyes meeting his.

‘I was aiming for her heart, a quick, clean kill. I didn’t want her to kill you. I didn’t want her to suffer. Oh god. Oh god, _Scott._ ’

Realistically Derek had known that Stiles had thrown the dagger, there was no one else around to have done it, but it wasn’t until he admitted it out loud, voice cracking and tears threatening to spill over, that Derek really believed it. Stiles had saved his life again. And this time he had killed for him.

Almost.

Allison kicked out at Stiles when he tried to get closer, wailing horrendously when she jarred her shoulder, more blood pouring out. A steady stream of pleading apologies fell from Stiles’ lips as he dodged the kick but remained close to her, trying to offer what comfort he could. He looked completely devastated, and with each moan of pain Allison let out, he seemed to break a little bit more.

Making a decision, Derek finally managed to make his legs do as he wanted. Striding over to Stiles he gripped his shoulder, firmly moving him back a few meters, unsurprised when he received no resistance. There was a little bit of confused shifting when Derek’s hand slipped from his shoulder to his thigh, but when he realised what he was doing he went limp, nodding once to show his approval before turning away.

Now clutching another dagger, Derek moved towards Allison, her writhing less energetic now that her life was literally pouring out of her. He knew that this was the kindest thing to do. Just minutes before he himself had been dying slowly, trapped in his own body, unable to stop himself from drowning. He had wanted to die so desperately. He had prayed for death, so sick of the pain, he’d just wanted it to end. What he’d got was Stiles, diving in and dragging him back from the brink, but that wasn’t an option for Allison. There was no antidote for a stab wound, at least not in the arena. She was going to die, he couldn’t stop that, but he could make it stop hurting, he could make it quick.

Kneeling over her, eyes locked on hers, he wasn’t surprised to see acceptance. Her body still fought against him, the natural instinct to survive strong in her, but she almost seemed thankful that he was choosing to end it for her. He felt the bile rise in his throat as he pushed the blade into her chest, right over her heart, but he swallowed it down, breathing deeply as he felt her still beneath him. Closing her eyes with his free hand, he climbed off of her, pulling the dagger out as he went, instinct not wanting to leave him weaponless again despite the fact she was dead and there was no one around to fight.

Again his instinct failed to peg Stiles as an enemy.

But seeing the boy, misty eyed but resolutely not crying even in the face of such horror, Derek just couldn’t see him as a rival. And he knew that he couldn’t kill Stiles, not after he’d saved his life.

Twice.

And even though every instinct he had was telling him to run, to leave, to get as much distance between them as possible, Derek ignored them. Collecting up the two daggers he moved over to where Stiles had collapsed, cross legged in the dirt, and handed them over, surprised when Stiles only took one back, gesturing for Derek to keep the other. As the cannon blast sounded across the arena and sent a flurry of birds soaring into the sky, Derek sank to the earth beside Stiles, wiping the blood off of the knife and onto his shirt, happy to have a weapon again. He didn’t speak and neither did Stiles, they just waited for the hovercraft to arrive and carry Allison away.

Looking at Stiles, small and fragile, but stronger than he seemed, Derek wondered if he hadn’t been underestimated. There was something about him, something kindly cruel, like innocence tainted but not quite corrupted that made him interesting, that drew him in. And as the urge to protect welled up inside him, unbidden and unwelcome, Derek feared that he was already in too deep, and he knew if he didn’t leave things were going to get messy.

He stayed anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure about this chapter, please tell me what you think, was it too fragmented and description-y. Also did it feel like I was trying too hard to form a connection between them, because I thought maybe it came across that way. Anyway, yeah, anything you want to say is welcome, but if you want to stay silent then that's fine too. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.
> 
> Katie Xx


	11. Splitting Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Allison's death leaves the boys with a decision to make. But it is really there's to make when it comes down to it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note.
> 
> Thanks to most of you guys for being so nice about my last chapter, and as for those of you who were disappointed that Allison died and that Stiles played a part in it, I completely understand where you are coming from, and I did think about taking it a different way, but I decided that I was more interested in writing it if Stiles' morals got a little murkier, especially when new loyalties formed, and I thought it fitted better with the character. But you guys are obviously entitled to your opinions and I'm sorry to have disappointed you. Thank you for at least coming this far.

They watched the craft come for Allison, watched as the claw was released and sent plummeting down, jaws clamping down around her limp body before dragging it skywards in its grasp. They watched as both craft and corpse flew away, getting smaller and smaller, until it was gone. They watched until there was nothing more to watch, but still they sat, in silence, together.

Eventually, when his legs were cramping and his body grew restless Derek climbed to his feet, stretching out his muscles, and wincing as some of them tweaked under his skin. Stiles ignored him, face blank, eyes dark. Derek wondered if he should say something, check he was alright, tell him it wasn’t his fault, that killing her was the only way. That it had been necessary and anyone would have made the same choice in his position, but he didn’t, he didn’t say any of that. It wasn’t his place, and he knew it wouldn’t help.

Instead he paced back and forth, boots scuffing up clouds of dust with every step, considering his next move. Looking at the tense line of Stiles’ shoulders he knew they had to part ways, there was no way they could stay together, not unless he wanted to kill the boy. And he didn’t, he very much didn’t. So that left leaving as his only option. Picking one direction and sending Stiles the other. Wishing him luck and hoping they didn’t cross paths again. Knowing with every cannon blast that he was living on borrowed time, time that Stiles had given him.

‘You’re leaving again?’

He tilted his face in the direction of the voice, squinting as he looked straight into the blinding sun as it set to the west, dipping beneath the horizon. Stiles too had made it to his feet, though the colour had yet to fully return to his face and his stance was unsteady, like he was still in shock.

‘It’s not like I can stay.’

Stiles seemed to want to argue, he even opened his mouth to do so, but it shut wordlessly when his brain caught up and he settled for a reluctant nod.

‘I suppose not. Which way are you going?’

There was a cave not far from the clearing, just outside the forest ring, where Derek had stashed his pack before going out to hunt. He’d never made it back, Kate ambushing and drugging him before he could, so he figured there was a chance his stuff was still where he’d left it. All he had on him was the clothes on his back and the knife in his hand and it made him feel vulnerable. His bag had matches and bandages, weapons and a sleeping bag, he needed to get back to it. He raised his hand and pointed in the direction he’d been dragged in from, if he remembered rightly it shouldn’t take long to get to the cave.

‘I’m going that way, you should go the other way. If we’re lucky we won’t see each other again.’

‘What you actually mean is, if we’re lucky we’ll be killed by someone else so we don’t have to kill each other, right?’

‘Precisely.’

Stiles laughed bitterly, the colour flaring a little in his cheeks, chasing away the pale whiteness that had been there before. He looked more stable. Part of Derek was absurdly pleased he wasn’t going to be leaving him so visibly shaken, so lost looking, so vulnerable. This way he could convince himself, if only a little, that Stiles had a chance of making it, that he could win. After all if the last few hours had proved nothing else, the kid was full of surprises.

‘So I guess this is goodbye?’

‘Yeah. Thanks for… saving my life. _Twice_.’

Stiles laughed again, smiling at him and shrugging offhandedly.

‘Meh, what can you do, I’m just _that_ awesome, it’s a burden I must live with.’ He paused, smile slipping slightly before he added, ‘sorry about Allison.’

‘It wasn’t your fault, she wasn’t all there, even I could see that. You did what you had to.’

He met Stiles’ gaze, imploring him to believe the words but he wasn’t overly surprised when Stiles just shrugged again, resigned this time, and sighed.

‘Yeah, she wasn’t like that, she wasn’t a killer. I hate that that’s how people will remember her. I hate that that is what these Games do. I hate that I hurt her.’

Derek struggled with what to say. He wanted to comfort him, offer some kind words, reassure him again that he’d done the right thing, but he couldn’t find the right words, he didn’t know what to say. Talking had never been his forte. Before he could muster up some cliché bullshit from the very depths of his soul, he was interrupted by a snort from Stiles.

‘You know,’ he said swinging the yellow pack onto his shoulder as he spoke, ‘this is probably the only civil conversation between Tributes ever in the history of the Games. We’re making history right now dude.’

Derek felt his lips twitch as his eyes sought out the nearest camera in the area. His gaze landed on a metallic looking bird nestled on a nearby branch. If he listened closely, he thought he could almost hear it whirring as it recorded their conversation. He turned back to Stiles, smirking at him.

‘That may be so but I’m pretty sure you’ll always be known for the 0.1 in training. Much more of an impressive feat if you ask me. Much more memorable.’

Stiles flipped him off.

They lapsed into silence, a few feet apart, just staring at each other. Stiles’ fingers twitched across the strap of his bag, adjusting it and readjusting against his shoulder like he couldn’t get comfortable. When the silence got too much he opened his mouth to speak but Derek cut across him.

‘We should go. It’s going to be dark soon and we each need to find a place to sleep before all the light’s gone.’

Stiles shut his mouth and swallowed, nodding.

‘Alright. Good luck.’

‘You too.’

Turning his back decisively on Stiles, convincing himself not to look back, he walked towards the trees, wondering how hard it would be to find his cave again. He hadn’t exactly been fully conscious when Kate had dragged him brutally through the forest the first time, his mind more focussed on the burning pain consuming his insides, but he vaguely recognised a few landmarks. He hoped it would be enough to get him there.

The whirring he’d vaguely heard before was louder now, like a faint buzzing in his head, one he couldn’t shake out. With every passing second it got more persistent, the press of the noise louder and louder. When there was a booming crash behind him it occurred to him that the whirring probably wasn’t coming from the bird camera after all.

Turning slowly, as if stuck in slow motion, Derek glanced over his shoulder.

In the distance there was another crash, the vibrations reaching the ground under his feet and shuddering up through them. The sky in the distance was an ominous grey, but it was the tinge of yellow that raised Derek’s hackles, the sight not only off putting, but worryingly unfamiliar. Stuck to the spot he listened as another crash resounded through the air, and another and another. He realised with a jolt, that it was the trees falling.

The crashes were getting louder, the trees falling closer and closer to him, and yet he was rooted to the spot, unsure whether to risk staying in the clearing where there were no trees to fall on him, or retreat into the forest to try and escape whatever it was that was making the trees fall.

The decision was made for him.

He watched as the leafy head of one of the trees close enough for him to see, juddered and began to slip from view, hitting the ground unseen but with the all familiar crash. There was something off about the horizon though, it was fuzzy, like looking at a badly pixelated screen, the grey and yellow tinged sky distorted for some reason. Like his vision of it was being obscured.

Like a bullet shot from a gun, Stiles launched himself back into the clearing, tearing Derek’s gaze away from the horizon and back to the boy shooting across the space between them. His face was wild, eyes wide with fear, and he was shouting something, though it was lost amongst the whirring that had now reached an almost deafening volume.

A tree from the edge of the tree line began to wobble, the trunk sizzling and cracking beneath some unseen pressure, the fuzziness having encased it and still edging forward like some starving monster, desperate for more.

Stiles was only feet away, urging him to run, and he did, turning on his heel and sprinting as fast as he could. When he reached the tree line he felt Stiles fall into step beside him, the sound of his wheezing breath louder even than the insistent whirring. Not daring to tear his eyes from the treacherous path of trees, fallen branches, rocks and shrubbery all waiting to trip him up, Derek reached out an arm and grasped Stiles’ forearm, using his own momentum to pull them both forward.

They kept running, even as the crashes got closer and the fuzziness threatened to surround them. Derek hissed as something tore at his arms and legs, tiny pin pricks of pain lancing through him, and when Stiles stumbled slightly Derek knew he’d felt it too. Though his legs ached and his head pounded, he pushed himself to keep going, to keep running, to keep pulling Stiles along behind him, despite the fact he could feel Stiles slowing down, the exertion getting to be too much. He tightened his grip around his arm and gritted his teeth. It was only a little bit further.

Derek felt like cheering when he spotted the moss covered rocks, the blood pounding in his ears and his body stinging all over. Putting on a final burst of speed he launched himself at the thickest part of moss, gasping in relief as he tumbled through it and into the cave beyond. He didn’t even care when Stiles’ heavy weight collapsed on top of him, the two of them panting in unison in the dark, dankness of the cave, the whirring muffled through the rock.

A short while later, when breathing was easier and his chest felt less like it was going to explode, Derek felt Stiles slide off of him, rolling so they were side by side instead of on top of each other. Bringing his stinging hand up to his face, Derek took the time to inspect the damage. Even in the dim light he could see the angry red welts, some of them bleeding, marring the skin of his hands, and judging by the sting on the backs of his legs, they were in a similar state. Shuddering as the adrenaline began to leave his system and the pain crept in in its place, he exhaled sharply.

‘What the hell _was_ that?’

He’d almost forgotten Stiles was there with him until he answered, voice raw like he was finding it difficult to talk.

‘Acid rain.’

Derek swore, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

‘Are you alright?’

There was no answer, so he nudged the boy with his arm, pausing as something sticky rubbed against him. Rolling his head to the side he could just about make out the shape of Stiles’ body, still, where it lay next to him. Pushing himself up to sitting Derek felt around for his pack, dragging it open when he felt it, and rooting inside for a match. When the flame flared to life Derek had to blink against the sudden brightness, eyes watering as they adjusted against the light glow. The stark red against the dull grey caught his eye almost instantly, pulling his gaze and holding it there as he took in the scene before him.

Stiles lay where he was, eyes closed and chest moving slowly. His skin was red raw, acid burns coating every visible part of his body, he’d only been a step behind Derek, but his clothes were torn and bloody from where the skin had split beneath the rain.

‘Stiles?’

Cautiously Derek moved forward, his own stinging hands forgotten, as he lit another match and felt for a pulse. It was weak beneath his fingers, and too slow like it was fighting to keep going but losing. Stiles groaned in pain as Derek accidently brushed over one of his burns and he apologised, spewing nonsense to try and sooth him. Outside the whirring continued, the rain still surrounding them like it was hanging around to watch its victim die.

Stiles groaned again, a brutalised version of Derek’s name slipping from between bleeding lips making Derek grimace, his hands skimming over Stiles’ body, desperate to help but completely at a loss on how to.

A sudden spasm wracked through Stiles and he screamed. Derek watched in horror as he shook against the floor of the cave, fingers scratching at the dirt, eyes open and pleading with him to make it stop. Derek hadn’t cried for years, but as he watched Stiles scream in pain, blood pouring off of his body, he could feel the tears welling up. He blinked them away. They weren’t going to help anyone.

There was a clunk followed by a scrape, something hitting the roof of the cave and sliding off. Derek started as he heard it, head twisting towards the mouth of the cave. Ignoring Stiles’ weak protests he moved towards the entrance, knife in hand just in case, and swept back the moss with the business end of the dagger to avoid touching the rain.

At first it seemed like nothing had changed. The rain was still pouring, the trees had mostly fallen, and the plants looked dead, burnt away by the haze of acid, but something _had_ changed. A few meters from the mouth of the cave where Derek was crouched was a small metal tin attached to a parachute. It seemed impervious to the acid pounding down around it, the droplets seeming to bounce off of it instead of cutting into it like it would do with skin. With _Derek’s_ skin.

Glancing back at Stiles, writhing in pain in a pool of his own blood, Derek wondered if it would be worth it. Wondered if what it was would even help or whether he’d just be sacrificing himself for no reason, leaving Stiles to die alone. He wondered if he could ever forgive himself if he didn’t even try and Stiles died because of it. He wondered if he could wait out the rain. He wondered if Stiles could last that long.

He wondered why he cared so much.

He wondered as he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Stiles. I hate hurting my babies.


	12. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing like lathering each other in healing creams and praying to every deity in the book that everyone survives to loosen someone's lips. In other words Derek shares some of his backstory, and the boys grow even closer.

_Everything burned._

That was all Derek could think as he ran.

_E_ _verything burned._

Even through the blur of rain drops he could see the raw skin of his arms blistering, could hear the faint hiss as the acid ate through his skin and drew the blood beneath to the surface. He imagined it felt a lot like it would had he been melting, liquid, both rain and blood, pooling across his body.

The little grey tin sat only meters away, the parachute limp and despondent on the ground next to it, but Derek had to fight to even reach out for it, any movement agony amongst the pounding rain. When his fingers closed around it, he had to bite back a scream, the sores on his fingers breaking under the insistent grip.

He slipped as he pivoted, legs sliding in the ruined earth, but he powered on, desperate to reach the sanctuary of the cave, desperate to stop the pain. He prayed to whatever god would listen that he held some sort of remedy in his blood soaked hand.

Stepping through the moss and into the cool dankness of the cave was nothing short of paradise. His body was red with blood, the hair on his arms matted with the stuff, and his skin looked like dried earth, cracked and splintered, deep crevices receding into themselves. The pain sweeping through him in waves made it difficult to stand so, with as much care as he could manage, he sank down to a squat before tumbling onto his knees next to Stiles.

He looked terrible.

The pool of blood that had surrounded him before was bigger, though his wounds leaked less steadily than they had. His chest still rose and fell in time, but it was far too slow and shallow to be of any comfort to Derek. The limp lean of his head indicated a loss of consciousness, the blood loss having taken affect while Derek had been gone. Where he’d been pale before, his skin was almost transparent, a shocking contrast to the vivid red.

There was a crash as the tin slipped from his fingers and he jolted, shouting as the movement jarred his wounds. Sparing Stiles a glance and sending up a last prayer, he picked the tin back up and worked on unscrewing the lid. His destroyed fingers made the job harder than it should have been, the press of metal against the oozing welts nothing short of agony, but after minutes of impatient work he managed to loosen the top enough to unscrew it with the heel of his palm. There was another crash as the lid fell, a small white square following it down, but this time Derek didn’t startle he just gazed into the creamy whiteness of the tin and exhaled.

Medicine.

Dipping an experimental finger into the cream he couldn’t help but sigh as the pain lessened immediately and when he withdrew his finger he was pleased to see the skin slowly knitting itself together before his eyes. Wasting no time, he scooped up a handful of the cream and, ignoring his own pulsing body, set about covering every scarred inch of Stiles in the stuff. He was halfway down his legs when Stiles stirred, consciousness slipping back as his body healed, and he groaned, spasming uncomfortably where he lay.

‘Derek?’

Not looking up Derek continued to press the cream into the cracks of his skin, bracketing Stiles’ legs to keep them still.

‘Derek? What are you doing? What is that?’

Stiles tried to sit up but the cream lathered across his arms was still working to knit the wounds closed leaving them too weak to prop himself up. Instead he hefted his arm up with a groan and peered at it through unfocused eyes.

‘Woah. Dude. This is like, magically healing me. Fuck, it doesn’t even hurt much anymore.’

His voice was awed and light, the relief from pain evident in every syllable and Derek smiled a little, weight heavy against the arm he was using to prop himself up. Thanks to the cream his hands were completely healed, the lingering tingle in his fingertips the only thing to evidence the previous carnage, but the rest of his body was still screaming in pain, and with the adrenaline wearing off his vision was starting to blot out. Half blind he dipped his hand back into the pot, fingers able to touch the bottom now, and smeared the residue onto the tops of Stiles’ feet. Stiles giggled and fidgeted a little as Derek’s touch tickled against his soles, and he tried once again to push himself up onto his elbows and see what was happening.

His arms wobbled slightly under the strain, still not completely healed, but he managed to stay upright, peering down his body. At his feet Derek was swaying slightly, skin of his face peeling and eyes fuzzy.

‘Holy crap, Derek. Did you – did you go back out there?’

Ignoring his weak limbs Stiles pushed himself to sitting and pulled his foot from Derek’s grip where he’d been holding it without any apparent purpose, his drenched body swaying like long grass in a gentle breeze. Stiles’ eyes fell upon the ¾ empty tin and he swore, scrambling onto his knees to grasp for it.

His legs, still part boneless, gave out beneath him but he managed to pitch forward enough to be able to catch Derek when he started to sink face forward. He steadied him then reached for the cream, his hand coming away sticky where it had gripped Derek’s shoulder.

‘God, Derek, what did you do to yourself? What were you thinking?’

Half conscious, Derek managed to mumble something, but Stiles shushed him and set about returning the favour. The cream dribbled though his fingers as he forced it into the cracks of Derek’s skin as hurriedly as he could manage, his worry spiking with every limp sway of Derek’s body in his arms. It seemed to take years for the skin to start to heal, longer than Stiles’ had, but when the first wound scabbed over before dissolving into nothing, Stiles cheered breathlessly before slathering the rest of the ruined skin.

It wasn’t until he reached a gaping hole in Derek’s chest that Stiles realised the problem.

‘Dude, you used too much on me. There’s not enough here for you.’

Through heavy lids Derek managed to meet Stiles’ gaze, taking in the mixture of accusing and worried that had settled there. Glancing down at the tin he realised that Stiles was right. His legs were still ruined, large chunks of flesh eaten out of them to the point where he figured walking would be impossible until they healed at least a little, and his chest was littered with pock marks dripping blood, but there was only a thin layer of cream left in the pot and a scoop in Stiles’ hand, nowhere near enough to heal it all.

‘My legs. Do my legs first.’

His voice was raspy, the acid having attacked his neck to the point his voice box had been seared a little. He could still feel the warm press of Stiles’ fingers against his neck as he’d applied the cream, but where he should have felt vulnerability at baring his throat to a stranger, however unwittingly, he felt only bone deep trust as if he knew on some instinctual level that Stiles would never hurt him. His already dizzy mind span at the implications and he closed his eyes and groaned confusedly.

Mistaking his groan as one of pain Stiles muttered out a distracted apology, his attention focused solely on his task, making the cream cover as much of Derek as possible. Each swipe was thinner and broader than the last, each movement concise on shaking fingers. Never one to be keen on blood, the bile rose in his throat as he soothed the tattered skin as best he could, pulse jumping against his ribs every time his whippet quick mind focused in on the oozing blood before being forced away as firmly as possible.

He just needed to make the bleeding stop.

He moved his hand, the one not administering the salve, distractedly, using it to prop himself more steadily at a different angle so he could reach the crook of Derek’s knee without straining. The prick of something sharp against his palm made him look down, a flash of white spotted with pink catching his eye and making him pause. Derek, having noticed him pause, followed his eye line.

‘It came with the tin. I didn’t read it.’

Using his nails to hook under the edges of the card, Stiles palmed it, pausing for a second to consider before passing it off to Derek and resuming his work without speaking. Derek turned the little card over.

 

**You’re an idiot**

**Stop dying**

**-Peter**

Despite himself Derek smirked, tossing the card to the side and sighing as the pain in his legs receded.

‘What did it say?’

‘It told me to stop dying, and that I’m an idiot.’

Stiles snorted, choking a little when he did so too violently.

‘Amen to that. What is this, the _third_ time you’ve almost died in like, 5 hours? You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.’

Derek swiped out a hand but wasn’t close enough to reach Stiles so he ended up just flailing at air pathetically.

‘Shut up, I was fine before you came along. You attract trouble.’

Making an offended noise in the back of his throat and slapping a healed patch of skin in reprimand Stiles levelled him with the most judging look he could manage while still scooping.

‘When we met you were drowning in a lake while your body succumbed to poison, I don’t think _I’m_ the problem here.’

Their smiles fell as Stiles’ fingers clanked noisily against the bottom of the tin and they both stared down at the empty vessel, the wound on Derek’s side far too obvious as it dribbled blood for either of them to ignore.

‘You used too much on me.’

‘It’s fine. At least I can walk.’

Derek twisted at the waist, hissing when his side pulled uncomfortable, before relining against the wall of the cave with a sigh. Stiles followed, fingers scraping against his own skin to collect as much of the cream as possible before smearing it uselessly against the injury. It wasn’t enough. The jagged walls of the hole pulled together slightly, the wound shrinking if only a little, but there just wasn’t enough salve left to heal it. Eventually Derek had to push Stiles’ hands away gently when the fussing became more painful than useful.

‘It’s fine Stiles. It hurts but I’ll live.’

In the cave, seemingly alone, it was easy to forget that that was most likely a lie. It was easy to forget where they were, what they were doing, what was expected of them.

The rain continued to pour overhead.

‘Who’s Peter? Your mentor?’

Derek glanced over to see Stiles picking at the card, nails flicking against the corners like they couldn’t stop moving. The same part of Derek that had deemed Stiles friend not foe, the stupid part, revelled in how much better the boy looked, how much colour had returned to his cheeks even in the low light of the cave. Reluctantly he looked away, eyes fixing on the far wall.

‘Yeah. He’s my uncle too.’

Stiles was silent for a minute, long enough for Derek to kid himself into believing that the conversation was over, but Stiles just exhaled noisily and tipped his head back against the stone with a clunk.

‘I can’t work out if that would be cool or not. I mean, on one hand you get to bring family with you and have someone you know train you and stuff, but then the family pressure must suck right? I mean with me, Deaton, my mentor, hates me but so does everyone else so there aren’t really any expectations. But you’re a career and you're from a Legacy family, yeah, that’s quite a burden I’d imagine. That must suck.’

Derek nodded picking the card from Stiles fingers and reading it over again. He could almost hear Peter saying the words to him, hand on his shoulder just a little too tight, and cruel smirk in place. If he’d had the choice Derek would have brought any other family member with him, after all there was a reason Peter had won his games, his smarts bordered on merciless, his skill bordered on evil. There was something off about Peter, had been for as long as Derek had known him. He hadn’t been alive when Peter competed, and he’d never been allowed to watch the replays of Peter’s year, but he’d heard his parents arguing about him one night when he couldn’t sleep. Whatever had happened, winning had cost Peter most of his humanity, and had left behind a twisted shadow of a person playing at being decent.

Stiles was watching him worriedly, clearly having noticed something was wrong. He quirked an eyebrow at Derek, and cocked his head. Derek smiled back, only a small twitch of his lips, but kept his eyes fixed on the wall opposite. He licked his lips, tasting the sharp copper of his blood and grimacing.

‘I’m not a Career.’

Stiles let out a noise of confusion.

‘But you’re District 1, District 1 and 2 Tributes are Careers.’

‘Normally, but I’m not. I didn’t volunteer like normal Careers, I got picked. I come from a Legacy family, people expected me to want go to the Games, so the other Careers didn’t bother to volunteer. It’s Career code, the highest ranking Career gets to volunteer and Legacies outrank everyone. I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t.’

‘Maybe, but at least you stand a chance of winning, you may not be a Career but people think you are and you’re built to be one. Me, I’m underwhelming and little more than skin and bones.’

Derek did look round at that, eyes boring intensely into Stiles’.

‘Don’t be an idiot. Sure, people underestimated you when you came in because you’d given them nothing to expect but I guarantee you are making waves in the Capitol. I may have got the parachute from my sponsors, but the cream was for you. You may be skinny and look weak, but you pretty much prove that not everything is what it seems. For starters you’re still alive despite the fact you scored so poorly in Demonstration, and you’ve saved my life three times now which while being extremely stupid, is pretty impressive all the same. You're more than you seem Stiles, way more.’

Stiles smiled happily at the praise, arm bumping up against Derek’s as he shuffled closer, the near death adrenaline no longer doing its part to keep him warm. He let the peace extend for a little longer before he broke it with a question.

‘Derek?’

Derek grunted to show that he was listening, but his eyes remained closed as he rested his head against the wall.

‘The girl – woman – from your District, why was she trying to kill you? I mean, I know _why_ but like, why was she trying so hard to kill _you?_ Normally people from the same Districts shy away from hurting each other because they know each other or they have family connections, why was she trying so hard to kill you? And so horribly too?’

Derek didn’t answer, instead he pushed off from the wall and shifted through his bag in silence. Stiles watched him, wondering if he’d hit a sore spot, wondering if he should apologise for butting into something that wasn’t his business. But the question had been on his mind for a while and he wanted to know the answer.

Derek pulled a half full water bottle from his bag and sipped at it slowly, his still tender throat aching a little as he swallowed.

Watching Derek drink reminded Stiles how thirsty he was but before he could grab his own pack Derek was back beside him and passing off his bottle to Stiles who took it thankfully and gulped down a few hearty mouthfuls before smacking his lips obnoxiously and running the back of his hand across his mouth.

‘Her name’s Kate.’

Stiles startled at the sound of Derek’s voice, but he stayed quiet, warned off from speaking by the dark edge in Derek’s voice.

‘She was in the Career academy back home, another Legacy as her father had competed many years ago, so our families lived in the Victor’s Village next to each other for years. We used to play fight and stuff when we were younger, she was always too vicious even back then, but when she got old enough to train properly she became ruthless.

‘I told my family that I didn’t want to train and they accepted that especially after seeing what had happened to Peter, but her father was adamant she become the best and bring honour back to their family. She found out I wasn’t training and saw my withdrawal as a Legacy as unforgivable, and when I refused to join up she vowed to destroy me. I didn’t think much of it when she said it because she’d always liked being dramatic, but a year later she set fire to our house. Everyone got out alright, and no one had and physical proof that she’d done it, but we all knew. Her dad even seemed disappointed it hadn’t killed us, he felt my parents were just as guilty for my withdrawal.

‘Anyway when I was picked as Tribute she wasted no time in volunteering, seeing the opportunity to compete and fulfil whatever destiny she and her father had assigned her, but also as a way of ridding the world of ‘my kind’, in other words people who shirk duty and family honour. There was nothing I could do to stop her from volunteering bar getting my sisters to do so instead and I wasn’t going to let them do that, so I was left coming here with her and she’s been trying to make good on her promise since the Games began.’

Stiles’ mouth was hanging open as Derek’s story trailed off. He’d never really understood the politics of Career Districts, District 4 having given up that mantel before he was born, but he never knew how serious it could get. 

‘That’s- that’s _insane_.’

‘I was an idiot to think I could get away from it.’

The pitiful resignation in Derek’s voice pulled at Stiles’ heart strings forcefully, and he had to fight off the urge to wrap Derek in a hug and promise him it was going to be ok, that he wouldn’t let that bitch touch him. This wasn’t Scott and he imagined Derek might not appreciate the hug as much as his best friend would have, tactility not really seeming in his nature. And anyway he wasn’t sure that that was a promise he could keep despite how much he wanted to.

Stiles remembered the conversation he’d witnessed from the chariot procession, the smirk on Kate’s face as she’d whispered quietly to a clearly uncomfortable Derek. The uneasy feeling Stiles had got from watching them made a lot more sense knowing what he knew now. She’d been corrupted long before she’d volunteered for the Games, Derek’s story made that clear. But what do you say to someone when they’ve admitted to being the target of a deranged psychotic killer with a free pass to murder them however they want to? Stiles struggled to come up with anything.

Instead he rested his hand on Derek’s forearm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture despite the gore still matted across both of them, and let the comfortable silence do the talking for him for once. He smiled contentedly when Derek leaned into the touch instinctively, wondering if this indicated trust or weariness. As Stiles gripped back harder he fervently hoped it was trust, because he realised that somewhere in their short acquaintance, somewhere between pulling his enemy from a lake and holing up with him in a cave, he’d come to trust Derek with his life, the same life Derek had just risked himself to save.

Clearing his tired mind of thoughts that went nowhere, Stiles shut his eyes and contented himself with listening to Derek breathe.

Outside, the rain began to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is later than I said it would be. I've been having some family issues, but I'm back now and I hope you like this my lovelies.
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL


	13. Letting Go and Giving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a new morning comes new challenges, like learning to function when everything you know has been turned upside down.

When Derek woke Stiles was gone.

There was no warmth pressed against his side, no hand on his stomach where it had slipped at some point in the night, no muffled snores echoing around the cave. It was just cold and quiet.

Everything else in the cave was as it had been when they’d fallen asleep, blood and other not so nameable substances littering the floor, more visible in the light filtering through the moss. The empty tin was still there, on its side, lid halfway across the cave where Derek remembered throwing it in his haste to get to the medicine. But there was no Stiles.

Glancing sadly towards the mouth of the cave Derek wondered when he’d left.

He knew, logically that it was the smartest thing to do. They’d both acknowledged that staying together wouldn’t do them any favours in the long run, but some small, traitorous part of Derek had thought that after they’d tried and failed to split up, after they’d saved each other’s lives _again_ that would have changed.

Obviously Stiles hadn’t felt the same.

Feeling colder than he could ever remember being, Derek wiped the sleep from his eyes and hunted through his pack for something to eat. He ate his dried biscuits in silence, the crunch and crumble of each bite the only thing breaking the quiet. He usually liked the quiet, the stillness it brought with it, but for some reason the silence of the cave did nothing to quell the uneasiness blooming in his chest. It felt cloying and restrictive, unnatural in a way he couldn’t remember silence ever being.

He finished his biscuits and packed up leaving the tin and the note on the floor of the cave, telling himself he was leaving them behind because they were useless and an unnecessary weight, but knowing they weren’t coming with him because he didn’t want the memories. He had enough of those.

Derek could still feel the press of Stiles’ arms around his waist as he’d dragged him to the surface, could still see the light in his eyes as he’d spoken his convictions, like there was still hope in his bones despite all he’d been through. He could still feel the skin beneath his fingertips, still soft even broken and scarred. He could still hear his voice, so fast and so free, so addictive.

He thought maybe Stiles leaving was for the best. He was attached, _too_ attached, sitting alone in their cave – _his_ cave – it was all too clear that he’d let things go too far. He was self-aware enough to know that had Stiles not made the first move he would have never left. He would have stayed by his side and protected him until they were all that remained, and then he would have lain down his weapons and surrendered himself. Because he’d let himself get in too deep, he’d let himself care.

Stiles leaving was probably for the best.

Heart heavy but otherwise healed, Derek knew he couldn’t stay in the cave. It wasn’t just the memories it held, though they only made the decision easier, his water deposits were low and his food was all gone meaning he could either hunt or starve, and even with the complication of Stiles being out there somewhere, fully embracing their roles as enemies once more, Derek knew he couldn’t die before being sure that Kate had beaten him to hell. With that in mind he swung his pack across his shoulders and ducked out of the cave.

* * *

Blinking his eyes to clear them, Stiles groaned noisily, mind desperately trying to creep back into consciousness with the rest of him. There was a crick in his neck that he absently tried to crack, but he stopped when the movement sent a wave of nausea through his system and left his temples throbbing. Bringing a hand up to rub at one of them he paused.

Eyes snapping fully open Stiles stared down at his hands in shock, eyes fixing on the thick lines of rope coiled around each of his wrists. A quick check confirmed his legs were in a similar state and that the tightness around his chest was the result of another length of rope tethering him to the trunk of a tree. Letting his head fall back against the bark he huffed out a noise of exasperation, half-heartedly testing the bonds for weakness though he could tell they’d been tied expertly just by looking at them. When the ropes began to chafe he gave up tugging and instead switched his focus to his surroundings.

There wasn’t much to look at. Just forest, trees and more forest in every direction, everything dappled in the half-light let through by the canopy. As he scanned the area for clues, he heard, to his right, a rustle, the faint brush of a body against leaves and Stiles’ entire body tensed up. The noise came again, the leaves of a bush only feet away twitching with the sound, and Stiles drew in a shaky breath, all too aware of the vulnerability of his position. When something launched itself from the bush he couldn’t help the choked off scream that clawed its way out of his throat even as his brain registered the long brown ears and bushy tail. Taking one look at the boy tied to a tree screaming, the rabbit turned tail and disappeared back into its bush desperate to get away from what it considered danger. Stiles figured that to a rabbit brain anything large and loud was going to be fucking terrifying. Gazing after the long gone rabbit, his mind drifted unbidden back to the rabbit stashed in his pack, the one he’d caught in his trap what seemed like years ago. Looking down at his bindings he wondered whether he was the one in the trap now.

He swallowed.

The last thing he remembered was falling asleep next to Derek in the cave, the warmth and steady breathing lulling him into a deep contented slumber, so unlike the restless hours he’d spent dozing the night before. His body had been exhausted after healing itself, and he wouldn't have been surprised if the cream had had some sort of sedative in it because he couldn't remember ever having slept so deeply before in his life. And he had no recollection of moving from the cave whatsoever. But then he’d woken, strapped to a tree, with a pounding head and no memory of how he’d got there. For a brief moment he wondered if Derek had done it, it would have been easy enough to knock him out, what with Stiles practically dead to the world, but there wasn’t a single part of Stiles that believed he’d done it. Derek had saved his life, had risked his own life to do so, turning on him now would make no sense. Which begged the question, where was he?

He didn’t think Derek would just let someone _take_ him, not if he could help it. So if Stiles was tied to a tree in the middle of nowhere, what had they done to Derek? His blood ran cold as his mind flew into a frenzy, each scenario he came up with somehow worse than the last. His face pale and the image of Derek’s half dead body from the night before fresh in his mind, he found himself thrashing at the ropes with renewed vigour, not even pausing when they began to cut into his skin and drew blood to the surface. When his energy began to give out and he’d gotten nowhere with the knots, he changed tactic.

‘Derek?’

His voice came out quieter than he’d intended it to, his mind still half focused on not alerting whoever had caught him to the fact that their prey had come to. Hearing no answer he tried again, shifting around to try and peer round the bulk of the tree.

‘ _Derek_?’

There was still no answer, the forest staying frustratingly quiet. He considered shouting again, as loud as he could, but he knew that was a stupid idea. There was no guaranteeing that Derek would even hear him, let alone come for him, in fact it was much more likely that some other tribute, either the one that had tied him up, or another one passing by, would hear and come to investigate, possibly with large pointy weapons. A flash of Matt’s dangling body came to mind and Stiles choked back bile. He decided not to call out again.

Sagging against the tree he closed his eyes, the throbbing in his temples less insistent than when he’d come too, but still there, aching faintly in his skull.

‘I swear to god Derek, I know you have a knack for getting yourself into deadly situations, but if you die just because I’m not there to save your ass, I’m going to find you in the afterlife and skin you.’

It was an empty threat, not least because he wasn’t sure there even _was_ an afterlife, but it made him feel better just to say it, like Derek could hear him, like he’d listen and make the effort to stay alive even more because of it. He ignored the part of him that told him that Derek might already be dead because that part just made his limbs go numb and they were already numb enough what with the ropes cutting off his circulation a little bit.

‘Well that’s not a very nice thing to say.’

Stiles’ eyes flew open, his heart careering in his chest as he scanned the forest for the voice, unfamiliar and yet not quite, something about it ringing in his head like he’d heard it before. From behind him someone laughed and he twisted against his confinements, itching to face whoever was there. Seeing him struggle and apparently not shy about keeping their identity secret, his captor stepped into his eye line, smirking when his eyes widened in recognition.

‘You know who I am. How sweet.’

She smiled like she truly believe that. He schooled his expression into something less shocked, after all shouldn’t have been so surprised by the turn of events, he really should have expected something like this.

‘I don’t know if I’d say sweet, I’d rather not know who you were, after all I hear you're not very nice.’

She pouted at that, fingers toying with a grey object sticking out of her belt.

‘Oh I can be plenty nice under the right circumstances, but unfortunately for you, you teamed up with the wrong side and thus you don’t get the privilege of seeing just how nice I can be.’

Leering at him, she pulled the grey thing out of her belt by the handle, and clicked something at the bottom of the device making it whir to life, sparks spitting out from the two prongs at the top. Seeing it up right and active it was much easier to see what it was she was carrying, after all he’d seen them all the time growing up. With a Head Peacekeeper for a father, they were practically part of the uniform. Staring at the crackling taser, Stiles swallowed down the lump in his throat. He had more pressing things to worry about.

‘Derek. Where’s Derek? Did you kill him?’

Letting the taser fall silent Kate laughed, and ugly sneer working its way onto her features as she looked him up and down.

‘No, of course not. Don’t be stupid. If I’d killed him why would I have brought you here? Don’t kid yourself, you’re a pawn in this game, bait for a bigger fish, nothing more. He’ll come for you because it’s in his DNA, I know him, I know his mind, and he’s gotten attached to you now, he always was way too sentimental. And when he comes, I’ll make him watch as I slit your throat, and then I’ll kill him too and finally be done with him, after all these years. And do you want to know the best part about all this? The best part is that when I win this thing I’ll be a hero for killing him, for killing all of you. I’ll be _revered_ for it.’

Her eyes were focused off to the side of Stiles, her face wild as she lost herself in what was to come.

‘But if you wanted to kill him, why not do it when you found us in the cave? Why take me and leave him? We were asleep; there was nothing to stop you from killing us both there and being done with it.’

‘Where’s the fun in that? I don’t want this over for the sake of it being over, I like to _play_ with my food before I finish it. After all this is a _game_ isn’t it, and I intend to have fun while playing it. And if that means postponing the inevitable a little longer to prolong the anticipation then so be it. This is much more enjoyable.’

She stalked forward until she was within arm’s reach of him, eyes fixed on his consideringly. He opened his mouth to speak, insults and accusations tinged with relief that Derek was still alive, poised on the tip of his tongue, but she cut him off.

‘You talk too much.’ She accused, ‘Now, be good little bait and bring me my prey.’

Flicking the taser back on, she pressed it against the flesh of his belly, the sparks igniting the nerves there and sending pain flooding through his system as he writhed against the tree, desperate to get away from the pain. As his screams grew louder and more pained Kate jammed the device more firmly into his stomach and leaned in to whisper sardonically in his ear.

‘Good boy.’

* * *

Derek almost missed it as he left the cave, the flash of yellow in his peripheries. In fact the only reason he even noticed it was because it was so out of place in the devastation left behind by the acid rain. Everything was dead, burnt away and scorched, except for the yellow bag, just outside of the cave, like it had fallen out by accident.

Realising with a sinking heart what it was, Derek found himself growing ill at ease, the whole situation suddenly feeling off, like there was something he was missing. Like something was wrong. Because while it made sense for Stiles to leave, why wouldn’t he take his pack with him? Why would he leave himself resource-less? He may be a bit of an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid, and the pack contained everything he had in the arena. There was no way he’d left that behind unless he’d had too.

The unease only intensified as he noticed the dagger handles poking out from underneath the bag. He began to feel sick, the weight sitting heavily in his chest because he knew, looking at the pack, that Stiles hadn’t just left, he’d been taken. And wherever Stiles was he was weapon-less, without food or water and alone. For half a second a small part of Derek warmed at the thought that Stiles hadn’t left of his own accord, but it was promptly crushed by the much more terrifying thought that Stiles was in danger, and he’d let it happen. He’d let someone take Stiles right out from under him. He had no idea where they’d gone, how long ago they’d taken him, or even if Stiles was still alive, but he knew he had to find him. Knew that that had somehow become more important than anything.

He decided he’d question that later.

His head whipped round as a scream pierced the quiet, echoing against the trees before falling silent. A flock of birds took off into the sky as another scream filled the air, pain lanced through every agonized note. Notes all too familiar to Derek.

Without hesitation he took off running, pushing himself faster than he’d ever gone before. With every step towards his destination he promised himself that he was going to kill whoever he found at the other end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? How fast am I! (Your wish was apparently my command FreezerM)
> 
> Anyway yeah, new complications arising in the arena, tune in next time to see what happens. Eugh Kate.
> 
> (Only 3 or 4 chapters left guys, how sad is that? Thanks for sticking with me this far at least, I never expected to have so much lovely support and it makes this so much nicer to write. You guys rock!)


	14. Kate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek goes to rescue Stiles, but something isn't right. And he really wants to know why bad things keep happening to him.

Stiles’ throat was raw and burning. Each scream ripped through him, agony pulling at his body, begging him to just give in as the electricity continued to spark through his bones. Kate had stopped laughing but her head was tilted in fascination, eyes locked on his with every press of the taser against his side. There was no regret, no sympathy, no mercy, just a cold blank stare for him to look into, to feel as sharply as the bolts of pain splitting his sides.

He just wanted it to stop.

He wanted it to end. He wanted to give in, do anything, _everything_ , he could to make it stop. He could feel the tear tracks on his cheeks, could see the black spots encroaching on his vision, blanking out his peripherals and leaving him focused only on his captor, wishing she would end it. But he knew she wouldn’t. She’d said it herself, he was bait. Just chum to lure the shark, and for that she needed him alive and screaming.

Feeling another brutal thrust of the taser, Stiles tipped his head back, wailing at the sky with everything he had left, and wondered, somewhat tiredly, if Derek was even going to come.

* * *

Though it went against every instinct he had, every nerve and impulse in his body, Derek forced himself to stop just out of sight of Stiles and his captor, crouching down on shaking legs to formulate some kind of plan. He wanted to just run in all gung-ho and heroic, slash and punch at whoever was forcing those terrible screams out of Stiles until they were bleeding and broken on the ground barely even recognisable as human, but he knew he needed more than that. He knew that for once, the element of surprise was on his side.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew that this had been Kate’s handiwork, anyone else made little sense considering. No one else would have taken Stiles and left him alive. No one else would purposely broadcast their position using the screams of their victim as breadcrumbs. There was no one else quite like Kate. And that was a good thing. Because despite hating her with everything he had, Derek knew an awful lot about her through exposure alone. And he knew her weaknesses and, if he was clever, he could use them against her.

She was arrogant, she believed she was the best and that no one else could ever match her, she left no room for error because she didn’t think she’d ever make one. And she thought she knew Derek, but he knew her better.

Slipping out of his bag straps he left the pack on the floor, pausing only to pull out the only weapons he’d kept on him in the arena. It was a [pair of cloth gloves overlain with metal](http://24.media.tumblr.com/b233e7efa107185b91d95ee8b0071fb2/tumblr_mg2j0precd1rxn2kjo1_500.png), the fingers tapered into vicious looking claws that acted as extensions of his own blunt nails when he slipped them on and fastened them into place, flexing his fingers to test their weight. They clacked together satisfyingly, and he flexed again just to hear the rattle. Another scream pierced the sky and Derek’s head snapped round to follow the sound. He wanted nothing more than to run to Stiles, but he knew that doing that would leave Kate with no reason to keep him alive, and he had no doubt that the minute she saw Derek, she would kill Stiles, if only so she could focus on Derek with her full attention. No. She was expecting him to barge straight in, and that was exactly why he wouldn’t. Instead he gritted his teeth and skirted an arc around the trees until he was on the opposite side of the screaming and only then did he begin to edge forwards as quickly and quietly as he could, claws out in front of him ready to shred.

His heart sped up as Stiles swam into view, tethered to a tree, body limp even as sparks were forced into it. The screams coming from him were weaker, mewls of pain rather than the full on wails, and from where Derek was edging out from behind a tree he could see Kate getting frustrated. It was clear she’d been expecting him long before Stiles gave out. A wave of guilt swept through him, but he fought through it, promising himself that once Stiles was safe and Kate was dead he would let himself feel guilty for what he’d done, for how long he’d left it. For now he just had to focus on getting Stiles out alive.

As Derek crept closer he could feel the rage bubbling up with every thrust of the taser, with every weak sound of pain, with every quiet breath of laughter. Kate still hadn’t noticed his approach, her gaze flitting from Stiles to the trees on the opposite side of Derek, clearly waiting for him to come bursting out. Smirking savagely in victory he reached forward with his clawed hands and slipped one around her neck, tugging her none too carefully, just wanting to get her away from Stiles’ bound body before she could do any more damage. Stiles sagged back against the tree, body still twitching slightly. With his other hand Derek gripped her forearm and dug the claws into her skin, watching with a wince as four pools of blood welled up on her arm, but he only released the pressure when she dropped the taser sending it plummeting to the ground harmlessly.

Kate struggled in his arms, elbows trying to make contact with his body, feet slamming backwards in an attempt to distract him, but it was clear that even she knew that with his sharp grip around her throat she was in no position to turn the fight around. It would take one motion, one burst of pressure and she would be over.

Bringing the hand that had been on her forearm to her waist, Derek flexed the claws against her shirt. He could see the scorch marks along Stiles’ belly, and he ached to ruin Kate like she’d tried to ruin him. To draw lines in her blood with the tip of his finger until she knew what it was like to suffer, to wish she were dead, to hate someone like he hated her. He clenched his jaw and stared at where the metal met skin

‘Derek, no.’

His eyes flew from his grip on Kate’s waist to Stiles’ weary eyes, the rage receding into a light simmering in his chest as he looked upon the soft, tired smile directed at him. Encouraging him to do the right thing. Telling him to be the bigger man, to do what she never could because they were never going to be the same. Swallowing back his resentment, his yearning for drawn out revenge, Derek nodded his acceptance, eyes still fixed on  Stiles, using the trust he found there to anchor him as he let go of the anger.

‘Look away.’

He waited until Stiles obeyed, eyes clenched shut and head turned to the side, before he summoned the strength he had and slashed straight through Kate’s neck in a single motion, grunting as he watched the blood spill down her chest. She was dead before she hit the floor, the life draining slowly from her body and pooling around her.

Not sparing a second glance at Kate’s body bleeding out on the earth, Derek tripped over to Stiles’ side, clawing at the bindings until the rope fell free in tatters and Stiles slumped into his chest, body weary and legs weak from loss of circulation. Derek dragged him away from the carnage and set him down on the ground gently, careful not to catch Stiles’ skin with his claws as he lowered him. Stiles just smiled somewhat serenely, and let himself be manoeuvred until he was leaning against Derek’s side, eyes slipping closed as the fatigue seeped into his bones. His fingers came to linger on Derek’s arm as he curled into his heat, and a sense of calm, of safety, of _home_ washed over Derek at the contact, real and tangible and _proof_ that Stiles was actually there. That he was safe. That they were _alive_ against all the odds. He smiled as he remembered the Game’s slogan. Perhaps the odds were in his favour, just this once. Stiles fidgeted at his side.

‘I didn’t think you were going to come.’

‘Go to sleep Stiles, you're being an idiot again.’

Stiles chuckled, burying his head into the warmth of Derek’s neck before sighing happily.

‘How is it that I just watched you rip out someone’s throat, yet I still feel totally safe around you? Am I crazy? Have I gone insane?’

Running a de-gloved hand across Stiles’ bared throat, Derek considered the question, frowning when he found the answer.

‘Maybe it’s because we both know I’d never hurt you, not if I could help it… Or possibly because you have absolutely _no_ survival instincts whatsoever.’

He deadpanned the last part, knocking Stiles’ head gently in mock indignation, but Stiles just hummed into his shoulder happily, breath brushing Derek’s skin with every sleepy exhale.

‘We really suck at this game.’

Derek couldn’t really argue that point so instead he looped an arm around Stiles’ waist and smiled.

‘Go to sleep Stiles.’

Chuckling again, Stiles shifted into a more comfortable position before seeming to heed Derek’s advice, his breathing evening out within minutes. Derek let him lean on his shoulder and slumber, not even moving when his joints began to ache and his body began to get restless. He just sat, and thought and waited.

It wasn’t until an hour later that the thought struck him.

Kate’s body was still sitting there, bathed in blood and attracting wildlife. The hovercrafts hadn’t come to get her, hell Derek couldn’t even remember hearing a cannon blast after he’d ripped out her throat. It wasn’t right. They should have come. Something was wrong.

There was a crash behind them, it shook through the ground and startled Stiles awake with a groan. It came again, this time followed by what sounded like something shattering. They looked at each other, eyes wide with fear, both remembering the rain from the day before, and Derek pulled Stiles to his feet, catching him when he wobbled, wondering if they had time to get back to the cave.

A rattling, whirring sound hit them, foreign in amongst the nature sounds of the forest, and Derek peered into the trees, squinting to see what was coming. He figured if had an idea of the fresh hell being inflicted upon them, then he could figure out a way to deal with it. He wasn’t going to be beaten now, not after everything they’d already survived, not after he’d just gotten Stiles back. He began to back up, pulling Stiles with him, as his eyes caught on a large object in the distance heading straight for them. And it was going fast, way too fast for them to out run now that it had obviously set its sights on the two of them. Derek cursed their bad luck, continuing to back away slowly from whatever it was that was hunting them.

Stiles’ hand slipped into his and clenched down, _hard_.

‘It’s a car.’

Derek glanced at Stiles, taking in the look of furrowed confusion on his face, before he looked back towards the thing coming straight at them. It was closer than it had been, the rattling louder as it approached, and Derek could see quite clearly, that Stiles had been right. It was a car, or more accurately, an all-terrain truck, and as it drew ever closer Derek could make out two people inside, one in the driver’s seat, one on the passenger’s side. He grunted his agreement with Stiles’ statement and pulled the boy into his side more tightly. He wasn’t too big to admit that he was completely lost.

The truck pulled to a stop about 20 meters from them, the doors clicking open as the two men inside climbed out. They were both too old to be Tributes, but that didn’t mean they weren’t part of the Games. He vaguely remembered about 10 years before, professional assassins being drafted in to make a show of lowering the numbers when the death toll hadn’t risen quickly enough. He hadn’t been paying attention to the amount of Tributes still playing, his mind more on staying alive than charting the others’ progress. He wondered if he could take them or whether he should just tell Stiles to run. He was pretty sure he could distract them long enough for Stiles to hobble away, but there was still the question of whether Stiles would go if he was told to. Derek was willing to bet money that the answer would be no. The tight grip on his hand only confirmed that suspicion.

Derek saw the barrel of a gun disappear into the waistband of the passenger’s shorts as he disembarked and he threw out an arm to force Stiles behind him so he could act as a human shield once more. When Stiles refused to step back, Derek risked dropping his gaze from the two men to level a glare at Stiles, to berate him for his stupidity, but he found himself faltering as he was met look of shock on Stiles’ face, his mouth working open and closed like a fish out of water. He didn’t look scared like he should have been, he just looked stunned. Derek wanted to ask what was wrong, wanted to wipe the vulnerable, shell shocked look straight off of his face, but before he could even open his mouth to ask, Stiles beat him to it.

In a tiny, whispered voice Stiles managed to get out one word.

‘Dad?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, almost done guys. Sorry it's been a while since I last updated but I've been a mess of nerves with results and everything, but now I'm in to University and everything is sunshine and ponies so you get a new chapter. Hope you liked it.
> 
> Xx
> 
> Side note: I am off on holiday for a little while, so it will be a week until the next update. Please wait for me!!!


	15. A Father's Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, I was away, and then I was lazy, and then I got writer's block and before I knew it it had been weeks since my last update. So apologies, please forgive me.  
> Hope this new chapter helps to ease the pain.

Stiles’ hand wrenched free of Derek’s grip as he sprinted towards his dad. The man in question just opened his arms, eyes crinkled in joy, and waited for his son to barrel into him. The moment they made contact Stiles was swept up into a tight embrace, face slumping into the crook of his father’s neck as his entire body went loose.

Derek looked away.

The other man, the man with the gun, was staring directly at him, gaze unnervingly blank. He made no move to approach Derek, no move to grab his gun, but Derek had the feeling the man was sizing him up, judging him poorly. He fought the urge to shuffle nervously. After all he’d been through he wasn’t going to break under the gaze of some man, no matter how intense the stare, no matter how drained he was. He was saved from the scrutiny when Stiles and his father broke apart, both a little moist around the eyes, but grinning like they’d swallowed the sun.

‘How are you here?’

Stiles’ eyes were wide, imploring, as they swept across his father.

‘It’s a long story son, one better saved for later. But I’m so glad you’re safe. We didn’t know if you were still alive. I was so worried I’d come in here and find your body. That we’d be too late.’

His eyes flicked guiltily towards the other man as if wary of his reaction, but he did nothing more than clench his jaw and avert his gaze, his steely eyes dimming slightly, his shoulders hunching over. Stiles too had turned to look at him, his already wide eyes widening even more as he took in their company. In his haste to reach his father he’d ignored the other man, and now that he’d turned his focus away from his dad he felt the guilt pool in the pit of his stomach. Tentatively he stepped towards the man, only slightly, his eyes flicking towards his dad who nodded minutely though whether it was in encouragement or simple understanding Stiles didn’t know. He cleared his throat drawing the averted gaze towards himself before he inhaled deeply and swallowed.

‘You probably don’t want to hear this but I’m so sorry for what happened. For what we,’ he hesitated looking towards Derek who looked back blankly, still unsure of what was going on and not enjoying being left out of the loop. After a moment of staring Stiles shook his head lightly and turned back to the man.

‘For what _I_ did. It changes nothing, and I fully understand if you want to hate me for what I did, but I _am_ sorry.’

The man didn’t speak, just looked at Stiles like he was staring straight through him. If Stiles noticed he didn’t seem to care, he just kept talking.

‘I don’t regret it though. I’m sorry it happened but I don’t regret doing it, and I know if the situation came up a second time I’d do it the same all over again. I know you don’t want to hear that, that that might make this worse, but it’s how I feel. I looked into her eyes and I couldn’t see her, it was like seeing a stranger wearing her skin.’

Staring over Stiles’ shoulder the man gazed into the forest.

‘My daughter’s dead.’

Stiles went to speak but the man held up a hand.

‘But she was dead long before your knife hit her, long before he,’ here he gestured to Derek who’s face slackened in understanding, ‘before he ended it. I look at you, and I can see the darkness, but I can also see _you_ behind it. I don’t think that would be something I could say if I were facing Allison right now.

‘I’m not going to _thank you_ for killing her, she _was_ my daughter and I love her, would have loved her regardless of what she became, but I understand that you did what you had to, and that you took no pleasure in what you did. I don’t thank you, but I don’t blame you either.’

Face stiff, Stiles nodded once in understanding, leaning into his father’s grip when a hand landed on his shoulder. His voice was gentle, respectful, when he spoke.

‘Come on son, I think that’s enough for now, we should get you checked up by the med team back at base, you must be exhausted.’

He waved off Stiles’ questioning glance with another promise of ‘later’ and herded him towards the car, helping him into the back seat when the step up pulled at the tender scars on his belly, before slipping into the driver’s seat and buckling up. Chris too took his place, eyes unfocused like his mind was elsewhere. As the car rumbled to life, Derek just watched from his place a few feet away, momentarily forgotten, mind reeling.

He’d almost died, _twice._ He’d run through acid rain and he’d sunk to the bottom of a lake. He’d stopped breathing and started again. He’d thought he was broken and learned he was wrong. He’d mercy killed a woman, a _girl_ , with guilt, because she’d threatened him and a guy he’d just met, because he’d had no other choice. And he’d _murdered_ a woman, a _girl_ , without a second thought, because somehow the guy he’d just met had become the guy he couldn’t lose, because he’d accepted no other choice. And yet, of all that, it was this he couldn’t believe. The rescue. The end.  An end where he and Stiles were both left breathing. It couldn’t be real. Miracles didn’t happen to Derek Hale, they just didn’t.

‘Derek, hurry the fuck up and get in the car.’

Stiles’ shout brought him back, reality slamming down around him. His muddled brain took in Stiles’ beaming grin, shining even through the layer of dirt on his face. He listened to Stiles’ dad half-heartedly reprimand his son for his language even though his face was closer to glowing than angry. He felt his own heart beating insistently against his ribcage like it wanted to escape, like it wanted to be somewhere else, and he followed it towards the car. Towards its miracle.

He forwent buckling his belt so he could slide closer to Stiles, but from the head on his shoulder and the soft look in the rear view mirror, he didn’t think anyone really minded.

* * *

Exhausted as they were, the vibrations of the car lulled Derek and Stiles to sleep within minutes and the next thing they knew they were being shook awake by Stiles’ father and led from the car into what looked like an elaborate conference room. The wood of the table shone with the light of the chandeliers sparkling from the ceiling and that coupled with the luxurious leather seats left no doubt that wherever they were they were still in the Capitol. Nowhere else in Panam could hope to look like this. Nowhere else could hope to afford it.

There were a few people already seated, a few more standing, and one or two moving in and out of the room, looking harried and focused. Following the trend Stiles slumped into the nearest chair, lolling his head across the headrest to smile bemusedly at Derek and his dad, and beckon Derek to the seat next to him. Seemingly thankful for some sort of direction Derek strode towards him and collapsed into the leather to his left, the rigid set of his shoulders the only thing hinting at his discomfort as his face was perfectly blank.

‘You’re not a happy bunny are you?’

Derek shot Stiles the dirtiest look he could muster, but he was still sleep adled from the car and what was supposed to come off as intimidating, missed by quite a mark. Stiles snorted, face more relaxed than Derek had ever seen it.

‘Aren’t you at least curious? One minute we’re in the game, you’re getting tortured, I’m killing Kate, and the next your dad and another man who I gather is Allison’s father drive up, load us into their car and drive us out of the arena without explanation. We didn’t win Stiles. This isn’t normal. Aren’t you worried?’

Stiles’ smile dimmed a little but his eyes were still warm as he answered.

‘I know it’s weird, but I trust my dad. Whatever’s happening isn’t _bad,_ it’s just different. You should trust him too.’

‘I don’t know your dad.’

Stiles shrugged.

‘Ok, but you know me. Do you trust me?

He fidgeted when Derek took a second to answer, his fingers dancing restlessly across the table surface, but they stilled when a warm hand came up to cover them, the weight a welcome restraint.

‘Yes Stiles, of course I trust you.’

He shook his head fondly when Stiles beamed back at him, but he couldn’t hide the small smile he returned, his hand squeezing Stiles’ minutely. They looked away from each other when a throat cleared at the head of the table.

In the time they’d been talking some of the chairs nearest to them had filled, though Stiles noted that he and Derek were the only ones sitting directly next to each other, everyone else leaving seats between them and their nearest neighbours. His eyes caught on the girl opposite him, her face and hair crusted with dirt and a long scabbing cut running up the length of her forearm where it was rested against the wood. She looked familiar, like he’d seen her before, but he couldn’t quite place her. It came to him quite suddenly, where he’d seen her, and he blamed his tired mind for not working it out sooner what with the blood and the dirt. She was one of the other Tributes, in fact now he looked closer he could recognise a few more familiar faces from the training room. She’d been confident in training, loud and talkative, but when she accidently met his eye line she looked away nervously and her arm spasmed against the desk, a trickle of blood meeting the polished wood as the spasm reopened the cut. His brows furrowed but he looked towards his dad as he started to talk.

‘I’m sure you’re all a little confused as to what’s happening, and more than a little drained by what you’ve been through, so I’ll be concise so we can have the med teams take a look at you as soon as possible and let you rest. To put it simply, a lot happened while you were in the arena, a lot has changed. While you were gone Panam underwent a change of government, and there is now a new one in place. One that does not agree with inequality of lifestyle, or separation of population, or enforcement of restrictive rules by use of oppressive force. And one that, under no circumstances, condones the murder of innocent children for _sport_.’

Stiles was a little proud of the anger on his dad’s face as he looked around the table, eyes lingering on Stiles who smiled back stiffly.

‘I can only apologise that it took us so long to get you out, we took the Capitol a day ago but one of the engineers locked the system before we could stop him and it took time to unlock it. We couldn’t contact you, couldn’t tell you you could stop, we couldn’t even switch the cameras back on to see if you were ok. It weighs heavily on all of us that, had we worked quicker, maybe we would have been able to get more of you out.’

Stiles thought about Kate, wondered whether his dad coming in earlier, stopping Derek from killing her, would have been a good thing or a bad thing. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have hesitated in saying it was a good thing, now he wasn’t so sure.

‘As for what happens next, we’ve got med teams standing by to check you over and your parents are on their way to collect you. As far as we are concerned all of you are Victors and you and your families will be treated as such. Society owes you a debt and it will repaid as best as we can because no one deserves to have gone through what you have been forced into, especially as children, though after the arena I find it doubtful you're really children anymore. Terrible things tend to force people to grow up before their time, another thing robbed from you.’

He shook his head sadly.

‘Are we the only ones left? The only survivors.’

The Sheriff glanced over to the small boy dwarfed in his chair down the table. His eyes were downcast as he picked at a rip in his shirt.

‘There are six of you in this room and two more already in the medical unit due to the condition they found in. We’re hoping they’ll pull through, but they were seriously injured so it isn’t a certainty. All we can do is pray that they make it, and thank god we at least got you six out alive.’

Again his eyes flicked to Stiles, but this time they swept across Derek too and Stiles heart warmed. From the tightening grip on his hand Stiles guessed Derek had noticed the look too.

Another boy down the table cleared his throat.

‘So what happened? Why’d this happen now?’

The Sheriff sighed.

‘I think it was long overdue, don’t you.’

‘But why now? It’s not like this is a new development. Why this year? Why us?’

Chris, who’d been leaning against the wall watching the proceedings with interest, chuckled darkly.

‘You’re right to be confused, on the surface it looks like nothing changed this year, but appearances can be deceiving. Do you know what’s wrong with this society? Do you know what the fundamental flaw was that let it sink to this barbaric level?’

The dirt crusted girl opposite Stiles lifted her head from where it had been resting on her hand.

‘Because it was run but people who were batshit crazy?’

Chris smirked, but it was bitter.

‘True, but not the reason I was looking for. This society is made up of followers and what do followers do? They follow. Not necessarily because they want to, no, they do it because it’s easier to go with the current than fight it, even if the current leads you into rough waters. No one fought the system because no one thought they could inspire enough of an effort to win. They let children die year after year, children they knew, sons and _daughters_ , because they thought they had no option but to follow. What they didn’t realise was that they weren’t the only ones who thought that. People all over the Districts were wishing for change, _praying_ for it, all they needed was a leader.’

He looked towards the boy who’d asked the question.

‘You asked why it happened this year. The simple answer is that this was the year they pushed too far. This was the year a leader came forward. You’d be amazed by the support one, well respected, _furious_ man could muster. It was enough to obliterate the Capitol. It was enough to turn society upside down.

The Sheriff was smiling grimly at Chris’ words, his jaw tight.

‘They shouldn’t have touched my son.’

Chris just nodded as if this was something they’d already established, something that was reiterated often. He looked back towards the boy from before, smiling somewhat sharkishly.

‘Does that answer your question?’

The boy nodded, his eyes fixed on the Sheriff, his face a mixture of curiosity and awe. The man in question seemed not to notice as he clapped his hands and gestured to the people lined up along the walls.

‘Right, if there aren’t any more questions perhaps it is time for check-ups. Your families will be here shortly, all things permitting, and I’m sure they’d want you to have been well looked after in their absence. These people will take you down to the medical bay, and then to rooms where you can rest if the medical staff discharge you. If you need _anything_ , feel free to ask. This is a new society, this is a _free_ society.’

He waved his hands and the surviving Tributes rose slowly, following the adults against the wall from the room. One of the men moved towards Stiles, smiling softly as if approaching a skittish animal, and while Stiles would have been offended he’d seen how jumpy some of the other Tributes had been when they’d been approached. Stiles had thought he’d had it hard in the arena, now he wondered if that was true. He felt the scars, both physical and emotional, with every step he took, but he could ignore them, he could focus elsewhere and forget even if only for a second. Looking into the eyes of the other survivors he saw pain and terror, they looked _haunted_. He couldn’t even imagine what they must have gone through to end up like that.

His dad appeared behind him, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder, and he shook his head at the advancing man.

‘I’ll take him down myself.’

Stiles saw the man glance at the table and followed his eye line. It was lingering on his and Derek’s joined hands. His dad also noticed his focus and sighed though not unhappily.

‘I’ll take them _both_ down.’

The other man nodded and left the room by a different door than those with charges, and the Sheriff, Stiles wondered if he was the President now, beckoned him and Derek to their feet before leading them from the room. Stiles could feel him behind them, his presence soothing and comforting, and he couldn’t help but think that whatever his new position was, there was no name more suited to his father than the Sheriff. He was brave, he was strong, he was kind and respected, and most of all he cared. He cared enough to bring down a regime, to risk his life, to risk everything, just for a chance to save his son.

He turned his head to look at his dad, face earnest and open.

‘You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder to call you my father than I am right now.’

His dad seemed to stumble a little at the abrupt announcement, feet slowing to a stop in the middle of the corridor, his face slackening in shock, but it took only moments before his face split into a grin and he grabbed Stiles by the shoulders, reeling him in for another bone crushing hug.

‘And I have _never_ been prouder to call you my son.’

The whisper was almost lost in Stiles’ hair, but Stiles heard it and tightened his arms around his dad’s neck. Safe in his dad’s arms and with Derek by his side, in a changed world that promised equality and opportunity, Stiles finally started to believe that things were going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. Can't believe it's almost done how weird is that?


	16. The End

It took hours for them to pass through the medical checks, hours of prodding and poking and needles so big Stiles felt fain just looking at them, and by the time they were being signed out it was all he could do to keep on his feet.

Stiles’ father had disappeared off somewhere around hour two, an important looking woman dressed all in black beckoning him from the room with a tap of her time piece and a reprimanding eyebrow. He’d followed swiftly, leaving Stiles with a promise of a later return and the doctors with orders to contact him if any problems arose. Stiles had tried to wave as he’d left, but the movement of his arm had jerked the needles out of place and the nearest nurse had given him a stern look and an angry tut before reapplying them with more force than was probably necessary.

The psychological tests were the worst, all the Tributes were led into separate rooms, sat down on long black couches and asked probing questions that were meant to determine if their minds had been damaged by the psychological trauma they’d been subjected to. Stiles strongly doubted any one of them were going to pass that test without some kind of warning signs presenting themselves. That being said, while his therapist seemed to dislike him by the end of the hour, he was allowed to leave without a strait jacket, and was discharged from the medical bay by a smiley woman dressed all in blue.

‘If you’d like to come with me I can show you to your suite.’

She raised her hand as if she was expecting him to take it, like he was some sort of lost child, but one look at his incredulous expression and she dropped it, scratching at her forearm as if that was what she'd meant to do the whole time.

‘Shouldn’t we wait for the others?’

He glanced back to the door he’d seen Derek go through. He knew that he had problems and Stiles worried how he’d handle being forced to talk about them. With everything that had happened with Kate, her fanatic fixation with killing him, Stiles figured there was probably a lot for Derek to talk about with his therapist. And factor in Derek’s complete hatred of all things that require proper sentence structures and emotional openness, and Stiles could see him being in there for a while yet to come.

His gaze snapped away from the door as a hand landed on his shoulder.

‘Oh no, that won’t be necessary. Who knows how long they’ll be and you must be exhausted. I’ll show you right up to your room and come back down for them later, don’t you worry about them. Now, come with me.’

She used the tight grip on his shoulder to propel him ahead of her, before she began to guide him out the door. He thought about fighting it, trying to persuade her to let him stay, let him wait for Derek however long it took, but she was right. He was exhausted. His legs ached and his eye lids kept drooping, and the thought of a bed was all too alluring. He was weak. Shrugging the hand off of his shoulder, he let the woman lead the way.

 

* * *

Stiles woke to what sounded like footsteps.

He was sure that before the arena something so quiet would have never even had a chance of waking him, but he was still on high alert, still ready for any attack. Slipping from the sheets and scanning the room for something that could be used as a weapon should the need arise, Stiles made his way towards the door, pressing his ear to the wood to hear what was happening in the corridor.

Every couple of seconds there was a scuffing sound, like the pressure of socks against carpet, scuffing against the fibres, almost like someone was walking in circles. Or pacing. He listened for another minute, the same scuffing sound playing over and over almost rhythmically, until it suddenly stopped, with no warning, and there was the sound of a heavy exhale. Stiles’ brows furrowed.

He knew it was probably nothing, someone sent to guard him or something, but he couldn’t help but be curious. The exhale came again, lower than the first, more frustrated and Stiles didn’t even try and convince himself not to have a look. Unhooking the lock on the door he pushed it open, wincing as the artificial light of the hallway trickled into his darkened room.

‘Derek?’

And of course, low, frustrated, _angry_ exhales, how had he not guessed it was Derek, but then again he hadn’t really been expecting Derek to be pacing outside of his room.

‘What are you doing?’

Derek’s eyes glanced along the corridor before fixing back on Stiles. His face was blank but the tick in his jaw was clenching like crazy, and Stiles could see just how uncomfortable he was. He wondered how Derek’s tests had gone.

‘I was looking for you. I couldn’t work out which room you were in.’

Stiles smiled and gestured at himself.

‘Well you found me, or well, rather _I_ found _you_. But that semantics, you wanna come in, it’s a little weird talking to you in the hall.’

Derek nodded, brushing past Stiles as he opened the door wider. Flicking on the bedside lamp, Stiles collapsed back onto his bad, only raising an eyebrow half-heartedly when Derek took that as his cue to do the same. They lay for a while, silent, staring at the ceiling.

‘You seem worried about something.’

Stiles couldn’t help but break the silence, the nervous tension radiating off of Derek was practically suffocating him, and he didn’t like it, didn’t like the idea that Derek was still on edge even after everything was over.

Beside him, Derek rolled his head so he could look at Stiles.

‘You don’t.’

It almost seemed accusatory, as if Derek had expected something, as if he were disappointed that he hadn’t got it. The confusion must have shown on his face because Derek sighed.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Stiles pushed himself up so he was sitting, peering down at Derek’s tense form.

‘No, something’s bothering you. What is it?’

‘I said it doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course it matters. It’s obviously bothering you.’

 Stiles placed a hand on Derek’s leg, eyes seeking out his even as Derek visibly hesitated. Running a hand over his face, Derek pushed himself onto his elbows

‘I’m not,’ he paused again, growling under his breath as he scrambled for the right words. Hand still on his knee, Stiles waited patiently for him to find them.

‘I’m not _worried_ exactly, more… confused.’

Cocking his head, Stiles pursed his lips.

‘Confused about what?’

‘About what happens now, what happens to us?’

‘Nothing. Nothing happens to us. We’re safe now. We’re free. This is a new world Derek, a different one, a _better_ one. Nothing’s going to happen to us now.’

Derek made the move to sitting completely upright, using his elbows to push himself up, internally cringing as his movement shifted Stiles’ hand off of his knee.

‘No, I mean yeah, I know that, but what… what happens to _us_? As in you and me?’

Stiles seemed to consider the question.

‘I don’t know, I never really thought about what happens after. I mean I was pretty sure I was going to die in the arena, I never imagined I’d survive. But I guess it’s the same as any Victor, we go home, back to our Districts, back to our families, back to our old lives – ’

‘But my old life doesn’t have you.’

Derek seemed a little startled at his outburst but he quickly schooled his look of shock into something closer resembling calm indifference. Stiles blinked, mouth a little open from where he’d been set to keep talking, but he’d completely forgotten what he was going to say the moment Derek had interjected. Instead he licked his lips, clearing his throat as he looked at Derek.

‘Yeah, well, some people might say that was a good thing.’

Derek didn’t even hesitate in answering, just shifted closer and fixed Stiles with his intense stare.

‘I’m not one of those people.’

Stiles laughed a little condescendingly, an unwelcome blush forcing its way onto his face under the weight of the stare.

‘So what exactly was the question again?’

‘What happens to us?’

‘Us? As in the surviving tributes, or… _us_?’

He almost smacked them both in the face with his arm as he gestured between them, but Derek managed to catch the rogue limb and lower it to a safer level. He didn’t let go though, holding the hand loosely against his leg.

‘I mean _us_. I mean you and me. I mean what happens now that I have to go home to my parents and you have to go home to your dad and we end up nowhere near each other again? If it wasn’t for this stupid Game we never would have met, and now that it’s over and we’re both still alive, thank _god_ , we’re just going to go back to that? Just going to go back to not knowing each other?’

Glancing down at their hands, Stiles stayed quiet. He hadn’t really thought about, hadn’t really realised what going home meant. That it meant losing Derek. But now that he did he found his heart beating harder in his chest, and his breathing coming quicker. The hand around his tightened. He looked up, eyes wide.

‘I-I-I don’t _know_. I didn’t think – I didn’t realise. Oh god,’ he was starting to panic, ‘I don’t want you to go.’

Derek was still wearing that intense gaze, staring at Stiles like he was some sort of puzzle just waiting to be figured out. But his expression was somehow warmer, happier, less protected. He rested his free hand against the two nestled against his leg, stroking the skin calmingly, soothing Stiles out of him panic.

‘I don’t want you to go either.’

Without really thinking Stiles flung himself towards Derek, hand pulling loose of Derek’s grip so it could join his other around Derek’s neck. Derek seemed to hesitate for a moment, body still beneath Stiles’, before he melted against him and tugged Stiles forward so he was practically in his lap, wrapped so tightly in his arms that it was almost painful to breathe. He turned his nose into Stiles’ hair and just _stayed_. Just sat, quietly, enjoying the moment in silence.

‘You know, this was so not what I expected when I was put in the arena.’

Stiles smothered his shock of laughter into Derek’s shoulder.

‘Really? Because being hugged to death by a muscly hot guy is definitely what I expected when I was sentenced to death by arena.’

Pulling away from Stiles’ hair, Derek cocked his head, eyebrow raised inquisitively.

‘You think I’m hot.’

Stiles snorted, still buried in the warmth of Derek’s shoulder.

‘Don’t be a naïve jackass, you _know_ you’re hot like fire.’

Derek’s whole body flushed with warmth and he tightened his grip across Stiles’ back slightly.

‘Yeah, well, you’re not so bad yourself.’

Stiles pulled back suddenly, eyes narrowed.

‘What did you say?’

Derek sighed, his expression something dangerously close to fond.

‘I said I think you’re hot too.’

It was a little unnerving the way Stiles just stared at him, eyes darting across the planes of his face as if searching for something but failing miserably. He bit his lip.

‘See, I’m sure I’m reading this wrong but I’m not sure how. Because it sounds like you like me, and that can’t be what you meant. Or at least that you like my face anyway because you said I was hot and that’s usually what people say when they like someone’s face in a like like way. But maybe you meant it in a different way?  Like I have this friend Scott back home and he’s good looking I guess, good features and that, so yeah, I guess I’d call him hot objectively, but I don’t want to bone him, like ew, no, never. So maybe that’s what you meant, that’s probably what you meant, a friend hot not _hot_ like I meant hot when I was talking about you being hot. An interested hot. Not that I’m interested… Well maybe I am. I’ve probably been kind of obvious. But I don’t think you are, don’t worry. Because you obviously meant hot in a friendly way and I’ve now completely embarrassed myself, and oh _god_ why haven’t you stopped me talkin – ’

There was a soft press of lips against his and Stiles froze, words running dry. It only lasted for a moment, the whole thing fleeting and barely there, but when Derek pulled away he could still feel the warm pressure tingling against his lips.

‘Ok, now I’m really confused.’

‘I like you Stiles.’

Stiles gaped.

‘As in _like_ like?’

‘Yes Stiles,’ Derek nodded slowly, as if explaining something to a child, thoroughly enjoying the incredulously hopeful look on Stiles’ face. ‘I _like_ like you.’

It was almost comical the way Stiles’ face broke into a grin so fast Derek feared he’d get whiplash.

‘ _Awesome_.’ He paused, the grin dimming slightly and his breathing picking up again as a thought struck him. ‘But wait, what happens to us _now_? It sucked when we were going to be apart as friends, it’s going to suck even more now we’ve done the messy _feelings_ part and kissed. And I kinda, really, _pathetically_ like you and you’re going to have to go tomorrow and it’s going to be even worse now that I know I could have you if you weren’t so far away and – ’

People had tried to shut Stiles up in many different ways in his life but being kissed quiet by Derek was quickly becoming his favourite method. It was longer than the first kiss, deeper too, and Derek’s hand firm on the back of his neck, pulling him in and keeping him close was a definite improvement. They ended up forehead to forehead, panting lightly, half reclined on the bedspread.

‘We’ll make it work.’

‘How?’

Derek sighed.

‘I don’t know, but we will. I’m not going to let you go now that I’ve got you.’

They smiled at each other, unguarded and happy for the first time in a long while, feeling safer in each other’s arms than they had ever felt anywhere else, and somehow Stiles knew that Derek was telling the truth. And he knew that he felt exactly the same.

 

EPILOGUE

 

In the end they spent the night together, curled around each other until Stiles’ father and Derek’s parents found them like that in the morning. Hand in hand, still rubbing sleep from their eyes, the five of them had gone to breakfast where Stiles had been rugby tackled by a sobbing Scott who just cried into his shoulder, occasional words like ‘Allison’ ‘angry’ ‘sorry’ and ‘I love you’ almost unintelligible between the shaky breaths. Derek had a similar experience, two girls flinging themselves at him, screaming his name happily, and smiling widely when he groaned and tried to struggle. He laughed when Stiles looked on jealously, peering at the two girls, before Derek had taken pity on him and grinningly introduced his sisters, ignoring their look of surprise at the smile splitting his face.

If there were tears when Derek had to leave then no one mentioned it, and Derek just kissed Stiles, a little misty eyed himself, until the tears stopped falling and his heart rate returned to a more normal tempo, not caring that his sisters cat called and his parents cooed happily in the background.

After that there were visits every couple of weeks, whenever possible, but it was still hard. Their relationship had been so intense, so concentrated and desperate in the few terrible days they had known each other, to step back from that wildness was difficult. They’d said they’d make it work, and they’d meant it, but it was painful every time they had to leave, every time they woke with nightmares and couldn’t cling to each other for strength, every time they could feel themselves falling further only to remember how far they really were.

In the end, a year into their relationship, it was Stiles who made the decision to change things.

* * *

‘Derek, answer the door.’

From where he was sitting, feet up on the wooden table, Derek sighed.  Closing his book, he pushed himself up with an exaggerated groan hoping Laura could hear it, and shuffled towards the door, rolling his eyes when the knocking came again. Muttering about impatience under his breath he pulled the latch free and opened the door.

‘Stiles?’

Stiles grinned back widely.

‘What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming down for another two and a half weeks.’

Slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket – and Derek took a moment to appreciate the image of Stiles in what looked like a relatively fancy suit – Stiles reclined against the nearest hand rail casually.

‘Yes, well, there was a slight change of plans.’

‘So you're visiting now instead?’

Running a hand across the back of his neck and letting his grin turn a little sheepish, Stiles ducked his head and glance up at Derek through the veil of his eyelashes in the way he knew Derek found equal parts frustrating and alluring.

‘No, not exactly.’

Derek’s face scrunched in confusion and Stiles’ smile widened further.

‘I’m not exactly _visiting_.’ He clarified.

‘Then what are you doing?’

Using his hip to push him from the hand rail, Stiles ran his hands up Derek’s chest teasingly before settling them on his shoulders, leaning forward so he could whisper into Derek’s ear.

‘I’m _staying_.’

There was a beat where nothing happened, and then a second where a strangled sort of disbelieving sound forced its way out of Derek’s mouth and into the air between them. 

'Staying? Here? In District One? You're staying?'

Stiles laughed, inching even closer to Derek until their chests were pressed together and he could properly stare into Derek's wide eyes.

'Yes, I-'

He didn't get a chance to finish before everything went hazy and mouths were on mouths and hands were under shirts and in hair, and Laura was dragging them inside the house away from the public eye while Cora giggled and hummed appreciatively. They pulled apart in the hallway, their beaming smiles making it difficult to keep kissing and Laura's tutting kind of ruining the mood. Instead Derek cupped Stiles' cheek and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

‘You’re really staying?’

‘Really really. I got a job here, I’m the new District One governmental representative. Apparently connections with the new President has its perks.’

‘But what about your father?’

Stiles sighed.

‘What with all his duties he’s hardly in Four anymore as it is, I think I’d see him more working here than I would being there.’

‘And Scott?’

‘Him I will miss, but he can always come visit. There’s no way a little distance is going to break our age old friendship. We’re tied together with stronger stuff than that. He actually played a big part in convincing me to move here, something about my annoying habit of moping every moment you weren’t around. Pssh, _total_ lies I assure you.’

Derek hid his smile into the side of Stiles’ head, blindly swatting at Cora when she popped up next to them, rabbiting on about Derek's little habit of ‘brooding annoyingly’ whenever Stiles went home. Stiles laughed and ran a hand through Derek’s hair.

‘We’re kind of pathetic you realise?’

Derek hummed in agreement, not bothering to let go of Stiles. Things were too good, they were going too well, he was certain that the minute he let go everything would turn to shit. To be honest he wasn’t too bothered by the prospect of never letting Stiles go. His mouth however hadn’t quite got the message though.

‘But moving here means leaving everything else behind, it means leaving District 4, you _love_ District 4. I’m not worth it if it means leaving your old life behind.’

Tugging at Derek’s face until he could meet his eyes Stiles smiled.

‘My old life doesn’t have you.’

And that was it, that was all he needed to hear before he was pulling Stiles in and sliding his lips against Stiles’ soft ones, practically purring as nails scraped against his scalp. Behind them Laura cleared her throat. She cleared her throat even louder when it was clear her first attempt was being ignored. Reluctantly the two broke apart again,  looking a little affronted at the wooden spoon Laura waved in their direction warningly.

‘As heart-warming as this is, I would like to remind you that the walls in this house are _incredibly_ thin and if you don't want me to spend every waking moment plotting horribly creative revenge then you will refrain from any further... physical celebration.'

It was true the walls were shockingly thin, a fact that had been incredibly annoying growing up, but at that moment Derek was willing to take whatever revenge Laura could think of if it meant taking Stiles upstairs and… _celebrating_. Celebrating the fact that his boyfriend was moving in with him, that he was going to be able to see him every day, touch him every day, _kiss him_ every day. That he was going to be able to wake up with him by his side every morning, watch him blink awake, hair messy and face blotchy and know that they had a lifetime of mornings just like that to look forward too. His heart was practically bursting.

  
Derek didn't quite get to voice his opinion on the matter however, before Stiles drew his attention back to him, his face the picture of forced innocence.

‘Oh yeah, did I forget to mention, this new job comes with a new, _empty_ house and a giant double bed?’

Derek was already halfway down the street, Stiles flung over his shoulder laughing, by the time he heard Cora shotgun his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't really believe it's over. That I've finished it. How weird is that?  
> For those of you who stuck with me this entire time, through the plot twists everyone saw coming, and the piss poor character development and the awful character adaptations, I can't thank you enough. The unbelievably kind comments and encouraging words made this something I actually enjoyed doing rather than dreaded writing, and that's all down to you guys.  
> I hope the end was good enough, that it lived up to expectations, that it didn't seem to forced or anything because I tried my best to make it believable. I worried that the trauma of the arena didn't come across enough but it was really difficult to write in, I hope that doesn't make it any less believable, but if it does then I apologise, I really did try to add it in, it just ended up feeling really inorganic and as pathetic as it sounds I really wanted a happy ending.  
> Anyway, enough of my rambling, thank you so much again for reading this, you really are incredible people. Feel free to talk to me anytime, if you want me to write anything for you, or even just to chat.  
> I can't believe it's finished.  
> Xx Katie.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to talk or just tumble with me you can find me here: http://livingwithlycanthropy.tumblr.com/  
> I swear I'm friendly and I have a LOT of free time. Shameful amounts. Come say hi, I dare you.


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